MOLNAR 


VANWESTRUM 


U  S  5A  ND 


K 


j/  C/A^/y 


THE  DEVIL 


Founded  on  FerencMolnar'sPlay,  as  produced 

by  Harrison  Grey  Fiske  at  the  Belasco 

Theatre,  New  York 


BY 

ADRIAAN  SCHADE  VAN  WESTRUM 


MADE  IN  U.  S.  A. 


M. A.   DONOHUE   &   COMPANY 

CHICAGO  ::  NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

PROLOGUE      9 

I.  SANDOR  TATRAY 33 

II.  ENTER — THE  DEVIL 64 

III.  THE  DEVIL'S  STRATEGY    ....  87 

IV.  THE  DEVIL'S  TACTICS      ....  100 

V.  THE  DEVIL'S  PARABLE     ....  132 
VI.  THE  VOROSS  BALL       157 

VII.  THE  DEVIL  IN  SOCIETY  ....  178 

VIII.  THE  DEVIL'S  PAWNS 202 

IX.  THE  DEVIL'S  MANTLE      ....  227 

X.  THE  DEVIL'S  LETTER 251 

XI.  THE  DEVIL'S   WISDOM   AND   WO- 
MAN'S       274 

XII.  THE  DEVIL'S  VICTORY  .  300 


PROLOGUE 

AT  MONTE  CARLO 

THE  halls  of  the  Casino  at  Monte  Carlo  were 
crowded,  for  it  was  the  height  of  the  season. 
Every  table  had  its  full  complement  of  seated 
players,  and  behind  them  the  later  comers, 
forming  a  bank  of  gaily  colored  gowns  and 
soberer  coats.  The  croupiers,  expressionless, 
observant,  deft,  kept  uttering  their  monotonous, 
"Faites  votre  jeu,  messieurs!  Faites  votre  jeul" 
The  vista  of  course  was  quiet,  as  always,  with 
its  heavy  gilding  under  the  tempered  light ;  and 
beneath  the  quiet,  not  over  it,  brooded  the  in- 
tense unrest  of  a  passion,  the  more  intense 
because  always  kept  in  control. 

Sandor  Tatray  staked  again,  and  lost.  He 
had  been  losing  ever  since  his  entrance,  after 
lunch,  losing,  perhaps,  because  it  was  so  all- 
important  for  him  to  win.  He  glanced  at  the 
croupier  who  raked  in  the  gold,  and — was  it 


PROLOGUE 

possible  ?  the  man  smiled  at  him  encouragingly. 
Sandor  looked  again. 

The  man  was  evidently  a  Southerner — an 
Italian,  a  Spaniard,  a  South  American,  a  Greek, 
perhaps,  or  a  countryman  of  his  own — a  Hun- 
garian. He  had  a  sardonic  face,  smooth-shaven, 
its  complexion  a  yellowish  olive.  His  eyes  were 
black  as  coal,  circumflexed  by  arched  brows 
of  a  dead  black,  like  his  hair,  which  was  parted 
in  the  middle  and  sharply  brushed  back,  leav- 
ing a  point  in  the  centre  of  the  forehead.  The 
point  led  down  to  a  hooked  nose,  and  that  to 
a  long,  sharp  chin.  An  evil  face  it  was,  evil 
with  the  understanding  of  the  passions  and 
weaknesses  of  others,  evil  with  the  knowledge 
that  holds  aloof. 

The  croupier  smiled  again  briefly,  almost 
imperceptibly.  Sandor  risked  his  last  louis — 
rouge,  impair  et  manque. 

He  lost  again.  When  he  got  up,  relinquishing 
his  seat  to  a  woman  in  a  picture  hat,  gorgeously 
bejeweled,  with  eager  eyes  and  flushing  cheeks, 
a  woman  intent  now  upon  her  own  weakness. 
not  upon  that  of  others,  which  had  furnished 

10 


PROLOGUE 

her  the  means  to  gratify  its  cravings.  Pardon, 
Madame,  he  murmured  mechanically,  and 
Merci,  Monsieur,  she  answered,  jeweled  purse 
in  hand,  her  mind  already  intent  upon  colors 
and  numbers. 

Sandor  slowly  made  his  way  to  the  vestibule, 
and  thence  to  the  vast  terrace,  towering  over 
the  blue  Mediterranean,  shimmering  in  the 
sunlight,  among  the  flowers  and  the  palms  and 
the  greenery  of  this  garden  spot  on  earth.  Its 
beauty  appealed  not  to  him  just  now — to  him 
the  artist,  the  lover  of  color,  of  beauty  in  all  its 
forms. 

So  here  he  was,  and  this  was  the  finish.  He 
had  reached  the  end  of  his  rope  at  twenty-five, 
by  his  own  act,  in  three  brief  days,  just  as  he 
had  set  the  first  foot  on  the  path  of  success,  just 
as  JJie  world  of  art — the  narrower  world  of 
judges  and  connoisseurs,  whose  judgment  the 
wider  world  always  follows  sooner  or  later — 
had  set  the  seal  of  its  approval  upon  his  work. 

He  had  talent — great  talent.  He  had  always 
known  it;  now  he  had  been  told  officially.  But 
a  week  ago  he  had  won  his  first  medal,  in  Paris, 

11 


PROLOGUE 

too.  But  a  week  ago — and  now!  The  money 
that  his  friend  and  patron  in  Budapest  had 
lent  him  to  finish  his  studies, — oh,  yes,  he  knew 
that  he  had  still  much  to  learn, — the  money  that 
was  to  take  him  to  Munich  and  Rome  and 
Amsterdam  and  the  Prado  had  gone  to  swell 
the  dividends  of  the  stockholders  of  the  Palace 
of  Chance  behind  him.  Laszlo  Voross,  prosaic, 
middle-aged  business  man,  a  speculator  of  com- 
merce who  frowned  upon  gambling  with  the 
conscious  virtue  of  the  great,  solid  merchant, 
would  never  forgive  him.  That  he  knew. 

Sandor  pulled  out  his  silver  cigarette  case, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  threw  the  match  out  into 
space,  and  folded  his  arms. 

Que  faire?  he  muttered  in  the  French  that 
during  the  last  two  years  had  become  more 
familiar  to  him  than  his  native  tongue.  Que 
faire  ? 

He  had  not  done  with  life.  This  he  knew 
quite  well.  The  love  of  it  filled  his  youthful 
veins  with  ardor,  the  desire  of  its  fulness 
burned  in  his  heart,  but — his  career  was 
crippled.  He  could  go  back  to  the  city  on  the 


PROLOGUE 

Donau  which  he  had  left  with  such  high  hopes, 
he  could  paint  pot-boilers, — he  might  do  quite 
a  little  trade  in  old  masters  made  to  order :  the 
shops  of  a  continent  called  for  them,  ever  more 
of  them  for  innocent  collectors  from  beyond 
seas, — he  need  not  return  to  the  drawing  les- 
sons from  which  Voross  had  rescued  him,  but — 
the  contrast! 

He  had  dreamt  of  other  things.  Of  a  palace 
of  art  to  dwell  in,  like  Makart's  or  Alma  Tade- 
ma's,  of  portraits  of  beautiful  women,  the  flower 
of  the  aristocracy  of  his  country.  He  had 
dreamt  of  his  masterpiece,  the  picture  of  the 
well-beloved  about  whose  identity  future  gen- 
erations would  speculate,  marveling  the  while 
at  the  love-light  in  her  eyes.  He  had  dreamt 
of  all  the  distinction,  the  honor,  the  grandeur, 
the  sensuous  pleasures  of  a  prince  of  art,  whose 
name  is  carried  from  continent  to  continent, 
revered  as  that  of  a  conqueror  or  a  statesman, 
sure  of  immortality  as  theirs.  And  through 
it  all  had  flitted  visions  of  the  tribute  that 
beauty  pays  to  the  conqueror  of  life — the 
master. 

13 


PROLOGUE 

Ah,  well,  it  was  over,  thanks  to  his  own  folly. 
And  now  he  must  face  a  future  of  mediocrity, 
of  middle-aged  Bohemianism,  which  means  un- 
orderly  habits,  threadbare  clothes  and  indiffer- 
ent food,  a  jaunty  face  put  upon  a  bad  business 
— an  old  age  of  indigence,  and  then  oblivion. 

Sandor  made  a  rapid  mental  calculation. 
Yes,  he  had  his  return  ticket  to  Paris,  and 
enough  in  the  bank  there  to  carry  him  back  to 
Budapest.  As  for  the  woman  who  had  led  him 
into  this  scrape  by  her  extravagance — well, 
she  must  take  care  of  herself.  She  was  used 
to  doing  this,  and  did  it  well.  He  smiled  grimly 
to  himself.  "The  woman  tempted  me,"  he  said. 

A  little  color  had  crept  into  his  handsome 
dark  face,  with  its  large  brown  eyes,  its  finely 
cut  nose  and  cleft  chin.  He  buttoned  his  frock- 
coat,  with  its  jaunty  white  flower,  tightly 
around  him,  gave  his  moustache  a  defiant 
twist  upward,  and  turned  to  go. 

There,  confronting  him,  dressed  with  exquis- 
itely quiet  good  taste,  stood  the  croupier  who 
had  raked  in  his  gold  pieces — no,  it  was  not 
he — yes,  it  was — was  it?  No,  decided  Sandor 

14 


PROLOG UE 

/ 

at  last.    This  Stranger  resembled  the  other  man 

in  a  general  way,  but,  now  that  he  looked 
closely,  he  saw  the  difference.  The  likeness 
lay  only  in  the  greenish  yellowness  of  the  com- 
plexion and  in  the  sardonic  curl  of  the  corners 
of  the  mouth. 

This  man  was  a  magnat — a  cavalier.  San- 
dor,  in  whom,  as  in  all  his  countrymen  of  the 
lower  middle  class,  respect  for  the  aristocrat 
was  deeply  rooted,  mentally  repeated  to  himself 
these  Hungarian  and  Austrian  equivalents  of 
the  word.  The  Stranger  looked,  on  closer  in- 
spection, like  some  grand  seigneur  incognito, 
a  member  of  a  royal  house,  perhaps.  One 
meets  all  kinds  of  people  at  Monte  Carlo,  drawn 
by  a  common  magnet. 

The  Stranger  smiled  pleasantly. 

"Pardon  my  intrusion,"  he  said,  with  the 
quiet  assurance  of  a  man  sure  of  his  station, 
who  addresses  on  socially  equal  ground  a  social 
inferior,  "pardon  my  intrusion,  but  I  could 
not  help  watching  you  a  little  while  ago  at  the 
tables.  I  was  sitting  quite  near  you." 

That  accounts  for  the  fancied  resemblance, 
15 


PROLOGUE 

said  Sandor  to  himself:  I  must  have  got  him 
mixed  up  with  the  croupier.  He  lifted  his  hat, 
and  bowed. 

"Am  I  wrong,"  continued  the  Stranger,  "in 
assuming  that  you  plunged  rather  too  heavily?" 

Sandor  flushed  painfully,  a  hasty  word  on 
his  lips. 

"Pray,  hear  me  out,"  continued  the  Stranger, 
hastily,  holding  up  his  right  hand,  whose  long, 
tapering  fingers  caught  the  artist's  attention. 

"I  am  much  older  than  you  are,"  continued 
the  unknown,  with  unmistakable  breeding  and 
a  no  less  evident  desire  to  conciliate — "much 
older  than  I  look.  I  have  seen  much  of  this 
world.  It  is  my  hobby — I  might  say  it  is  my 
business — to  observe  people  and  drawn  con- 
clusions." 

"Monsieur  is  perhaps  connected  with  the 
Casino?"  asked  Sandor,  with  unpleasant  intent. 

"Young  man" — the  reply  was  given  with 
impressive  dignity — "in  the  place  that  claims 
me  I  am  the  master,  undisputed.  It  is  my 
realm,  my  own.  Its  affairs  are  far  larger,  and 
more  enduring,  than  the  bungling  little  enter- 

16 


PROLOGUE 

prise  in  there.  Believe  me,  I  mean  to  be  your 
friend.  Will  you  listen?" 

The  Stranger  took  his  right  elbow  in  his  left 
hand,  and  caressed  his  long,  pointed  chin  with 
his  right.  His  coal  black  eyes  gazed  quietly 
at  the  painter  from  deep,  dark  sockets  under 
the  arched,  finely  pencilled  eyebrows. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Sandor,  surrendering  to 
an  influence  which  he  felt  but  could  not  define. 
"I  was  very  rude.  But  believe  me,  I  am  terribly 
upset." 

"Now  we  understand  each  other."  The 
Stranger  took  out  a  golden  cigarette  case,  on 
which  Sandor  saw  a  princely  crown  and  an 
undecipherable  monogram,  and  lighted  a  long 
and  fragrant  cigarette. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  "now  we  have  re- 
turned to  our  starting-point,  all  misunderstand- 
ings have  been  eliminated,  and  you  have 
acknowledged  that  I  am  right.  I  never  make 
mistakes ;  that's  what  gave  me  courage  to  speak 
to  you,  Sandor  Tatray." 

The  artist  gave  a  start. 

"You  know  me?"  he  asked,  much  surprised. 
17 


PROLOGUE 

"Oh  yes,"  I  know  you,"  replied  the  other, 
turning  from  faultless  French  to  equally  im- 
peccable Hungarian.  "You  see,  my  dear  sir, 
in  my  leisure  hours,  which  are  scant,  I  am  a 
lover  of  art — if  I  may  boast,  a  connoisseur,  a 
discerning  collector,  and  a  patron  of  young 
talent." 

Here  he  bowed  with  inimitable  grace  and 
dignity.  A  court  sword,  ruffles  and  a  golden 
snuff-box  would  have  graced  that  bow  much 
better,  the  painter's  trained  eye  discerned. 

"When  I  speak  of  young  talent,"  continued 
the  cultivated  voice,  "I  mean  you.  Oh,  I  am  no 
stranger  in  Paris.  I  may  say  that  I  am  no 
stranger  in  any  of  the  capitals  of  the  world. 
But  to  our  affair,  since  you  consent  that  I  shall 
make  it  mine  as  well  as  yours." 

Here  he  glanced  questioningly  at  Sandor, 
who  bowed  but  did  not  speak.  The  painter  was, 
in  fact,  nonplussed.  Of  this  distinguished 
stranger's  kind  intention  he  could  no  longer 
doubt,  but  why — why?  The  whim  of  an  august 
personage  taking  his  vacation  incognito?  A 
philanthropist  finding  work  to  his  hand?  A 

18 


PROLOGUE 

collector  bent  on  making  a  sharp  bargain  with 
a  promising  talent  in  need?  Sandor  gave  it 
up.  He  began  to  have  a  kindly  feeling,  however, 
for  this  courteous  gentleman,  who  was  so 
tactful,  so  considerate,  so  patient. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said  at  last  (the  respectful 
address  fell  from  his  lips  almost  unconsciously) , 
"well,  sir,  since  you  seem  to  know  so  much,  I 
may  as  well  own  up.  Yes,  it  is  true.  I  have 
made  a  mess  of  my  life  in  three  short  hours. 
All  I  can  do  now  is  to  go  to  the  Devil." 

"Ah,  the  inexperience  of  youth,"  smiled  the 
Stranger.  "And  so  you  think  you  are  going  to 
the  Devil  because  you  have  gambled  a  little — 
only  a  little  more  than  you  could  afford — and 
believe  that  you  will  have  to  take  to  painting 
pot-boilers,  or  perhaps  will  have  to  go  back  to 
giving  drawing-lessons.  Pray,  what  profit 
would  there  be  to  the  Devil  in  your  sinking  to 
obscure  mediocrity?  That  way  drab  virtue 
lies,  my  young  friend.  The  sins  of  the  poor! 
Do  you  think  that  they  give  him  pleasure? 
They  are  absolved  of  them  by  their  clergy  be- 
fore they  die,  and  with  reason.  They  are  rarely 

19 


PROLOGUE 

great  enough  to  be  worth  the  Devil's  while." 
Sandor  looked  up  in  astonishment. 
A  grin  passed  over  the  Stranger's  features, 
and  was  gone  in  a  flash,  leaving  only  the  sar- 
donic smile  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth. 

"You  are  astonished  to  hear  me  speak  like 
that?  Well,  it's  true;  I  have  strange  fancies, 
and  perhaps  the  strangest  of  all  is  the  way  I 
feel  about  the  Devil.  People  know  him  so  little, 
and  misunderstand  him  so  much.  You  see, 
Monsieur  Tatray,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  Devil 
is  too  powerful  a  personage,  and  has  too  im- 
portant affairs  in  hand,  to  bother  about  the 
little  sins  of  the  obscure  mass  which  may  some 
day  fill  the  dark  corners  of  his  realm,  suffering 
as  little  as  it  has  sinned.  A  Russian  grand- 
duke,  now — there's  game  for  him ;  or  an  English 
statesman  who  sends  thousands  of  children  to 
their  graves  for  the  sake  of  a  peerage;  or  a 
financier  robbing  the  widow  and  the  orphan ;  but 
the  poor,  why,  he  cannot  possibly  be  interested 
in  them.  There  is  a  theory,  I  believe,  that  he 
has  hosts  of  inferior  imps  to  attend  to  the  small 
fry.  Perhaps  that's  true.  I  have  observed  that 

20 


PROLOGUE 

mankind  occasionally  stumbles  upon  some  eter- 
nal verity. 

"But  pardon  this  whimsical  reflection. 
Everyone  has  his  hobbies — for  example,  a  love 
for  speculating  upon  strange  topics.  Another 
of  my  hobbies  is  art,  and  the  encouragement 
of  young  artists.  And  still  another  is  to  see 
to  it  that  young  people  are  not  mistaken  when 
they  say  they  are  going  to  the  Devil.  It  makes 
them  feel  important,  when  in  reality  they  will 
never  get  farther  than  his  lowliest  substitute 
assistant-deputy.  Going  to  the  Devil  means 
the  fulness  of  life,  of  its  pleasures  and  its 
pomps,  not  their  denial.  However,  now  I  will 
stop.  You  have  borne  with  my  hobby  most 
patiently." 

The  Stranger  smiled  amiably.  In  fact,  he 
beamed  upon  Sandor  with  affection. 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  the  young  man, 
"you  have  greatly  interested  me.  These  are 
new  ideas  to  me." 

"So  much  the  better,  then.  Now  to  return 
to  our  muttons,  as  they  say  in  dear  Paris.  You 
have  lost  the  money  destined  for  your  studies. 

21 


PROLOGUE 

You  are  in  a  hole — a  little  hole,  which  you  be- 
lieve to  be  a  bottomless  pit  on  earth.  I  am 
going  to  prove  to  you  that  this  is  not  so  by 
pulling  you  out,  easily,  with  one  hand,  like  this." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  filled  with  gold.  It 
glittered  as  no  gold  had  ever  glittered  in  the 
young  man's  eyes,  sparkling  in  the  sun  as  if 
there  were  brilliants  of  purest  water  among 
the  yellow.  Sandor  looked  at  it,  attracted, 
fascinated — he  who  had  always  needed  it  so 
much,  but  had  never  yet  cared  for  money  except 
as  a  means  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  artistic 
aspirations.  It  intoxicated  him;  for  the  first 
time  in  his  brief  life  he  saw  in  it  the  key  to  all 
that  the  world  offers  and  asks  payment  for. 

The  soothing,  persuasive  voice  came  to  him 
from  afar,  as  through  a  rosy,  gilded  sunrise 
haze  in  a  dream. 

"Gold,"  it  said.  "The  cure  of  little  ills,  the 
palliation  of  great  ones,  the  solvent  of  all 
troubles.  Phantom  and  reality,  tempter  and 
savior,  blessing  and  curse!  It  buys  loyalty, 
it  buys  hatred ;  it  sweetens  and  it  embitters ;  it 
unites  the  loving  and  lures  the  wife  from  her 

22 


PROLOGUE 

husband's  side;  it  conjures  up  beauty  and 
engenders  ugliness,  cause  of  envy  and  crime. 
It  shrivels  up  the  souls  of  those  who  are  its 
slaves,  and  kills  the  souls  of  those  who  are  its 
masters !  The  second  of  my  allies,  dear  to  me, 
but  the  first  of  them  is  Love !" 

Sandor  gazed  at  the  glittering  gold  in  a 
state  of  hypnotic  intensity,  following  the 
sparkling  rays  it  threw  off  into  the  blue  sky, 
over  the  parapet  across  the  blue  Mediterranean, 
back  into  the  windows  of  its  Temple.  Then 
the  vision  faded.  He  came  to  himself  with  a 
start.  The  stranger  was  gazing  at  him  medita- 
tively, his  left  hand  supporting  his  right  elbow, 
his  right  hand  softly  caressing  his  long,  pointed 
chin. 

"Why — why,"  stammered  the  artist. 

"I  was  just  saying,  Monsieur  Tatray,  that, 
if  you  would  permit  me,  I  would  help  you  out  of 
the  very  shallow  little  hole  into  which  you  had 
stumbled.  Let  me  be  your  banker.  A  little 
loan,  you  return  to  the  tables,  win  back  what 
you  have  lost,  and  go  back  to  your  studies. 
What  could  be  simpler?  I  render  you  a  trifling 

23 


service,  and  you  give  me  a  very  real  pleasure. 
Shall  we  say,  yes?" 

"But — but  suppose  I  lose  again?" 

"In  that  case  you  shall  paint  my  picture. 
Many  great  artists  have  painted  me,  but  none 
has  ever  succeeded.  They  all  paint  me  too 
dark,  I  say — do  not  know  how  to  place  me  in 
the  right  light,  have  no  idea  of  the  background 
that  suits  me  best." 

"It's  just  like  those  confounded  poets,"  he 
added  under  his  breath,  "always  misrepresent- 
ing me.  Literary  tradition,  I  suppose." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  asked  Sandor,  who  had 
not  understood. 

"Pardon  me,  I  was  only  grumbling.  Now 
we  have  arranged  our  little  affair,  have  we  not? 
You  will  let  me  lend  you  the  money  to  repair 
your  losses.  If  you  win,  you  pay  me  back;  if 
you  fail,  you  paint  my  picture.  You  see,  I  stand 
to  lose  nothing  in  either  case." 

"Thank  you,  yes;  I  will  accept  your  offer 
with  much  pleasure." 

The  Stranger  drew  out  a  well-filled  wallet, 
and  took  from  it  a  handful  of  bank  notes.  San- 

24 


PROLOGUE 

dor,  who  had  expected  another  sight  of  the 
magic  gold,  felt  puzzled.  Had  he  really  seen 
it  in  the  Stranger's  hand — or  what? 

"Shall  we  say  ten  thousand  francs?"  asked 
the  friendly  voice. 

"Yes,  thanks;  whatever  you  think." 

He  took  the  notes,  folded  them,  and  put  them 
into  his  pocket.  When  he  looked  up  again  the 
Stranger  had  disappeared. 

The  painter  remained  in  the  deserted  terrace 
a  little  longer,  gazing  out  across  the  sea,  no 
longer  with  unseeing  eyes.  Hope  had  returned 
to  him,  life  smiled  again  upon  him.  There  was 
to  be  still  another  chance  for  him.  He  re- 
viewed again  all  the  hopes,  the  aspirations, 
tumbled  into  ruins  a  short  hour  ago,  now 
rearing  the  pinnacles  of  their  fairy  structure 
higher  and  prouder  than  ever.  Success  yonder, 
emerging  from  the  subtropical  greenery,  grace- 
ful and  promising.  Fame  over  there,  solid  and 
proud  and  vast,  rising  from  the  sea  and  aspiring 
towards  the  blue  dome,  filling  its  expanse,  the 
sun  gilding  the  smaller,  slender  steeples,  here 
and  there ;  of  opulence  and  success ;  fair  women 

25 


PROLOGUE 

smiling  from  their  bowered  windows,  mysteri- 
ous, alluring. 

Sandor  prolonged  the  vision,  it  was  so  fair, 
so  dear  now  that  it  had  been  found  again,  re- 
built more  temptingly  beautiful  than  ever  his 
artist's  imagination  had  been  able  to  rear  it. 
He  would  enjoy  it  to  the  full  before  he  put  his 
fortune  again  to  the  test.  It  might  vanish 
again  at  that  green  table,  to  lie  in  ruins  forever. 
There  was  his  mysterious  patron,  to  be  sure, 
but — who  knows?  The  whims  of  exalted  per- 
sonages rarely  last  long. 

He  took  his  courage  into  his  hands,  and 
returned  to  the  rooms,  selecting  the  table  at 
which  he  had  lost  before  in  obedience  to  an 
impulse  he  did  not  stop  to  analyze.  The  crou- 
pier was  still  in  his  place,  expressionless,  ob- 
servant, deft,  repeating  his  monotonous,  "Faites 
votre  jeu,  messieurs!  Faites  votre  jeul  Rien 
ne  va  plus!"  Sandor  glanced  at  him  curiously, 
and  again  the  resemblance  to  the  Stranger 
struck  him,  and — was  it  possible? — did  the  man 
really  again  give  him  that  barely  perceptible 
smile? 

26 


PROLOGUE 

The  woman  with  the  picture  hat,  the  gorgeous 
jewels,  the  eager  eyes  and  flushing  cheeks  was 
still  in  his  seat,  a  pile  of  gold  before  her.  Led 
by  the  same  impulse  that  had  sent  him  back  to 
the  table  where  he  had  lost,  he  placed  himself 
behind  her.  Ere  ten  minutes  had  passed,  she 
gathered  up  her  winnings,  poured  them  into 
the  jeweled  purse,  and  got  up. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur." 

"Merci,  Madame." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  recognized  him. 

"Your  seat  has  brought  me  luck,"  she  smiled. 
Then,  low,  "If  you  are  in  luck,  come  to  dine 
with  me.  Hotel  Cosmopolitain." 

But  Sandor  was  already  intent  upon  the 
game.  Red  ?  No ! 

Black  it  must  be  this  time.  Why?  Impulse 
again.  But  this  time  he  stopped  long  enough 
to  realize  that,  somehow  or  other,  it  was  his 
strange  friend's  appearance  that  suggested  the 
change,  or — or — he  grew  bewildered — was  it 
that  croupier,  who  persisted  in  resembling  the 
other  one,  and  lost  the  resemblance  the  moment 
one  began  to  look  for  it. 

27 


PROLOGUE 

Sandor  began  cautiously  on  black.  He  won 
and  doubled  his  stake.  He  kept  on  winning. 
Then  another  impulse  told  him  that  it  was  time 
to  play  the  red.  Again  he  won.  And  now  he 
began  to  feel  as  if  some  mind  outside  his  own 
was  guiding  him.  He  no  longer  planned  his 
play,  he  staked  impulsively,  following  that 
elusive  suggestion.  Some  one  was  "thinking  of 
him,"  for  him,  perhaps.  Flushed,  intent,  he 
noticed  subconsciously  that  the  croupier  was 
watching  him  closely. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  the  spell  fell  from 
him.  He  came  to  himself,  collected,  calm,  sane. 
Gathering  up  his  enormous  winnings, — there 
was  a  crowd  now  around  the  table  watching 
him,  a  diplomat,  a  demi-mondaine,  a  duchess, 
and  a  railroad  magnate  crowding  each  other 
for  his  seat  with  polite  eagerness  behind  his 
back, — he  rose,  stuffing  the  money  into  his 
pockets  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  crush, 
followed  by  envious  eyes  and  audible  whispers. 

In  the  vestibule  he  stopped.  The  Stranger? 
He  had  forgotten  to  ask  him  for  his  name,  his 
address.  He  must  find  him,  however,  to  return 

28 


PROLOGUE 

the  money  that  had  been  his  salvation.  People 
were  streaming  out,  down  the  steps,  for  it  was 
the  dinner  hour. 

At  last,  suddenly,  he  perceived  his  benefactor 
standing  quite  near  him,  listening  with  an  in- 
describable expression  upon  his  face,  right 
elbow  in  left  hand,  pointed  chin  in  the  right, 
to  a  South  American  ex-president,  who,  after 
wholesale  murders  of  unprecedented  atrocity, 
had  escaped  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  to  Europe 
and  the  enormous  stealings  which  he  had  pru- 
dently piled  up  in  the  Bank  of  England. 

The  Stranger  smiled  and  nodded.  Sandor 
went  over  to  him  with  boyish  eagerness. 

"Oh,  sir,"  he  exclaimed! — the  man  had  sud- 
denly assumed  his  grand  air  again — "Oh,  sir, 
how  can  I  ever  thank  you?  I  have  had  such 
luck!  I  won  it  all  back,  and  more  than  I  have 
ever  had  before!" 

He  was  eagerly  fumbling  in  his  stuffed 
pockets,  as  he  spoke,  and  drew  out  a  handful 
of  notes,  from  which  he  counted  with  trembling 
fingers  the  money  lent  him.  Handing  it  over, 
he  continued: 


PROLOGUE 

"Thank  you,  again!  And  now,  will  you  not 
come  to  dine  with  me?" 

"Do  not  mention  it,  Monsieur  Tatray.  I  am 
glad  to  have  been  able  to  render  you  this  trifling 
service.  Only  its  results  make  it  seem  great  in 
your  eye.  But  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  accept 
your  invitation.  I  am  off  for  Korea  to-night.  I 
am  beginning  to  have  large  interests  there. 
The  Japanese  are  civilizing  the  country,  you 
know,  according  to  the  most  approved  Christian 
methods." 

Did  the  Stranger  sneer?  Sandor  did  not 
s&p  to  observe.  He  continued  rapidly — his 
taut  nerves  were  beginning  to  relax: 

"But  shall  I  not  see  you  again?  Won't  you 
tell  me  your — " 

"Certainly,  my  young  friend,  you  shall  see 
me  again.  Be  sure  that  I  will  not  lose  sight 
of  you.  Indeed,  I  have  the  highest  hopes  of 
you  for  the  future.  Now  take  one  of  my  cigar- 
ettes to  quiet  your  nerves,  and  then  back  to 
your  studies  and  to  Budapest!  We  shall  meet 
again." 

Sandor  lighted  the  cigarette.  When  he 
30 


PROLOGUE 

looked  up,  as  earlier  in  the  afternoon  on  the 
terrace,  the  Stranger  had  disappeared.  The 
ex-president,  still  standing  nearby,  was  looking 

around  him  with  a  puzzled  air. 

*  *          *  *  *  * 

Sandor  Tatray  went  back  to  Paris  that  very 
night,  with  a  little  fortune  of  over  100,000 
francs  securely  tucked  away  in  his  breast 
pocket.  As  he  lay  in  his  berth,  too  excited  to 
sleep,  he  reviewed  again  the  happenings 
crowded  into  that  one  short  day.  From  de- 
spair to  comfort,  to  independence,  to  untram- 
meled  pursuit  of  his  ambitions! 

The  Stranger!  He  had  done  it  all.  Sandor 
wished  that  he  knew  his  name,  but  the  man 
had  been  pointedly  reticent  on  that  point.  In 
fact,  he  had  adroitly  stopped  Sander's  inquiry 
before  it  had  been  spoken.  Undoubtedly  he 
was  an  exalted  personage,  strictly  preserving 
his  incognito  while  amusing  himself  in  his 
own  way,  a  way  apparently  of  large  means,  and 
talking  strange  things.  Sandor  wished,  now 
that  it  was  too  late,  that  he  had  offered  to  paint 
his  portrait.  It  would  have  been  some  recogni- 

31 


PROLOGUE 

tion  of  the  service  rendered,  some  token  of 
gratitude.  Perhaps  later?  He  might  attempt 
the  picture  from  memory,  the  man's  personality 
had  impressed  him  so  much. 

But  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  after  an 
unrefreshing  short  sleep,  the  Stranger's  face 
had  grown  dim  beyond  recall  in  his  memory. 
Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  keep  his  mental 
vision  of  it  from  merging  into  the  sardonic  fea- 
tures of  the  croupier.  Their  strange  talk  on 
the  terrace,  too,  had  gone  beyond  recall.  And 
so,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  there  remained  nothing 
but  an  impression  of  a  chance  encounter,  a  run 
of  luck,  a  turn  in  the  tide  of  Fortune. 

That  he  would  see  the  Stranger  again  he  felt 
sure.  Would  he  recognize  him  when  he  came? 


32 


The   Devil 

CHAPTER  I 

SANDOR  TATRAY 

THE  bell  tinkled  twice  in  rapid  succession  in 
the  hall  of  Sandor  Tatray's  studio;  then,  as 
Andre,  his  old  servant,  tarried,  there  was  a 
nervous  fumbling  at  the  knob.  The  door 
opened,  and  the  painter  entered,  meeting  the 
hurrying  servitor  on  the  threshold. 

"How  is  this,  Andre?"  he  said,  irritably.  "I 
ring,  you  don't  answer  the  door,  and  when  I 
try  it,  I  find  that  it  is  not  locked.  Anyone 
could  have  walked  in." 

"I  don't  understand  it,  sir.  I'm  sure  I  locked 
it  when  you  left.  I  am  sorry." 

"Has  anyone  been  here?" 

"Only  the  landlord's  agent.  He  wishes  to 
know  if  you  will  renew  the  lease?" 

"The  lease?  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  been 
here  three  years?" 

33 


THE    DEVIL 

"Yes,  sir.  Three  years  since  you  came  back 
from  Paris,  and  set  up  your  easel  here,  engaged 
me,  and  painted  my  portrait  first  of  all.  Ah, 
sir,  I  often  look  at  it  as  I  set  things  to  rights  in 
the  studio.  That  portrait  brought  you  luck, 
sir,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so." 

"Yes,  that  and  Fanny's." 

"But  you  painted  me  only  once,"  said  Andre, 
with  a  touch  of  jealousy,  "and  you  have  painted 
her  a  hundred  times.  All  Budapest  knows 
Sandor  Tatray's  model." 

"You  mean  that  you  made  me  famous  with 
a  single  picture,  and  that  it  took  a  great  many 
of  Fanny's  for  me  to  make  her  name  known. 
Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Andre,  only  don't 
grow  conceited." 

"And  my  portrait  was  reproduced  in  illus- 
trated papers  all  over  the  world,"  exulted  the 
old  servant,  with  fond  admiration. 

"So  was  Fanny's,  Andre,  so  was  Fanny's." 

Sandor  had  divested  himself  of  his  fur  over- 
coat and  hat,  taken  off  his  frock  coat,  whose 
buttonhole  was  adorned  with  a  ribbon  of  an 
order,  and  put  on  a  velvet  painting  jacket.  He 

34 


THE    DEVIL 

now  glanced  around  the  large  den  with  his  ever- 
recurring  delight  in  its  contents  and  their 
arrangement. 

It  was  a  delightful  room,  a  pleasure  to  the 
eye,  the  decorations  in  a  sober,  rich  color  effect, 
its  wealth  of  art  treasures  deftly  disposed, 
inviting  inspection,  but  not  insisting  upon  it. 
There  were  antique  embroideries  and  superb 
Oriental  porcelains,  a  bit  of  shining  old  Spanish 
brass  here  and  there  where  a  higher  note  of 
color  was  required,  heavy  hangings  of  brocade 
and  velvet,  medieval  and  Japanese  armor,  some 
excellent  paintings,  not  all  the  artist's  own, 
and  all  the  odds  and  ends  picked  up  with  dis- 
crimination and  arranged  with  the  casual  effect 
that  hides  so  much  of  study.  Yes,  it  was  a 
delightful  room,  restful  and  inviting  to  the 
chance  lay  visitor,  of  infinite  interest  and  pleas- 
ure to  the  connoisseur.  The  furniture  was 
comfortable  as  well  as  valuable:  inviting  easy- 
chairs  and  low  tables,  a  lounge,  a  huge  bear- 
skin before  the  hearth,  priceless  rugs  upon  the 
floor,  and,  to  one  side,  an  old  Gothic  chair,  the 
gem  of  Tatray's  collection,  tall,  with  a  pulpit- 

35 


THE    DEVIL 

like,  four-pointed  back — an  ecclesiastical  throne, 
perhaps,  taken  from  some  monastery,  or  per- 
haps the  chair  of  state  of  some  belted  knight  of 
old. 

The  studio  was  as  pleasantly  situated  as  it 
was  arranged.  A  glass  door  gave  into  the 
huge  north  room,  with  its  enormous  skylight, 
and  through  this  door  could  be  seen  the  Donau 
and  the  graceful  bridge  spanning  it  that  links 
Buda  to  Pest. 

Sandor  threw  himself  down  on  the  lounge, 
and  helped  himself  to  a  cigarette.  The  servant 
pottered  around  the  room,  setting  things  a 
trifle  to  rights  here  and  there,  waiting  for 
orders. 

"Has  my  dress  coat  come  back  from  the 
tailor's?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"White  gloves  and  ties  in  order?  Shirt  all 
ready — studs  and  all?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  run  to  the  florist's,  and  tell  them 
not  to  forget  the  gardenia  for  my  button- 
hole." 

36 


THE    DEVIL 

"Are  you  not  going  to  wear  your  Leopold's 
order  to  the  Voross  reception?  Oh,  sir,  you 
should  be  so  proud  of  it,  you  are  the  youngest 
man  on  whom  it  has  ever  been  bestowed." 

"I  am  proud  of  it,  Andre,  but  the  gardenia 
is  Madame  Voross's  favorite  flower,  and  we 
must  please  our  hostess  first  of  all." 

"She  is  a  beautiful  woman,  sir,  if  an  old 
servant  may  make  free  to  say  so.  I  have  often 
seen  her  in  her  carriage.  You  ought  to  paint 
her  picture." 

"I  am  going  to  paint  her  picture,  Andre. 
That's  why  I  told  you  to  get  everything  in 
readiness,  and  see  that  this  room  was  in  order." 

"You  are  going  to  paint  her!  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad!  That  portrait  will  be  famous." 

"Now  run  away,  Andre,  and  see  to  that 
flower." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Left  alone,  Sandor  Tatray  looked  around  him 
with  infinite  content.  Yes,  he  had  every  reason 
to  be  satisfied.  Life  had  been  good  to  him  thus 
far.  He  had  succeeded — not  perhaps  in  the 
full  measure  of  his  ambition,  but  he  was  cer- 

37 


THE    DEVIL 

tainly  on  the  way  to  gain  all  for  which  he  had 
planned. 

It  was  three  years  now  since  he  had  come 
back  to  Budapest  from  his  studies  abroad,  pre- 
ceded by  a  reputation  in  art  circles  that  many 
an  older  man  might  have  envied  him.  Since 
then  his  career  had  been  a  succession  of  suc- 
cesses; of  portraits  that  had  been  features  of 
the  exhibitions  at  which  they  had  been  shown. 
The  "Painter  of  Fair  Women,"  they  called  him 
now.  The  great  beauties  of  his  own  country 
had  come  first,  then  the  great  ladies  of  Austria. 
And  now  he  was  beginning  to  attract  them  from 
abroad,  from  Russia,  from  Italy — a  Spanish 
duchess,  then  several  royalties,  and,  quite  re- 
cently, the  young  wife  of  an  American  rail- 
road king,  whose  fragile,  intellectual  beauty 
had  been  a  triumph  of  femininity,  not  of  the 
dignity  of  rank.  Sandor  had  exulted :  Sargent 
drew  them  to  London,  he  would  draw  them  to 
Budapest.  He  had  engagements  for  two  years 
ahead. 

Money  flowed  into  his  coffers,  of  course.    He 
lived  well,  but  with  a  certain  sober  wisdom. 

38 


THE    DEVIL 

He  committed  a  folly  here  and  there,  to  be  sure, 
but  remained  always  master  of  himself.  His 
heart,  so  it  was  said,  none  could  touch,  neither 
the  beauties  of  society  and  the  stage  whom 
he  painted,  nor  the  women  whom  he  met  in 
the  houses  of  his  friends,  or  elsewhere  in  the 
prosperous  Bohemia  of  which  he  was  an  orna- 
ment. He  had  his  bonnes  fortunes,  to  be  sure, 
but  they  were  calm  affairs,  in  which  he  took 
far  more  of  sentiment  than  he  gave,  and  ever 
Fanny,  the  "famous"  Fanny  remained  his 
favorite  model,  the  unofficial  guardian  of  the 
comforts  and  the  treasures  of  his  home. 

She  was  not  intellectual,  this  Fanny,  but 
she  was  very  beautiful  of  face  and  form,  and 
she  had  temperament.  A  gay,  thoughtless 
creature,  living  but  for  the  fleeting  moment, 
she  cheered  his  dark  hours,  for  he  was  moody, 
like  all  men  of  genius — and  genius  he  undoubt- 
edly had.  That  her  presence  was  grateful  to 
him  only  because  it  served  to  make  him  forget 
the  absence  of  another,  she  suspected  with  a 
woman's  intuition,  but  never  dared  to  question 
him.  If  she  was  not  intellectual  or  well-edu- 

39 


THE    DEVIL 

cated,  Fanny  was  wise  with  the  wisdom  of 
much  experience  of  an  impressionable  heart. 

Three  short  rings  of  the  bell.  Sandor  knew 
them.  The  model  had  come  to  make  her  daily 
call,  to  see  about  posing  and  to  give  her  capable 
attention  to  the  details  of  a  bachelor's  house- 
hold. There  was  a  standing  feud  between  her 
and  Andre,  who  chafed  under  the  authority 
which  Sandor  had  given  her,  still  more  under 
that  which  she  had  gradually  arrogated  to 
herself. 

The  painter  opened  the  door. 

"Good  afternoon,  Sandor.  Oh,  what  a  face ! 
You  are  not  the  least  bit  glad  to  see  me." 

"Good  afternoon,  Fanny." 

"Won't  you  kiss  me?" 

"Certainly.  It  is  a  pleasure.  There! — Now 
sit  down,  and  be  a  good  girl." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  pose?" 

"Not  to-day." 

"To-morrow?" 

"Not  to-morrow." 

"Not  to-day,  not  to-morrow,  never  again! 
Oh,  I  know.  I  have  seen  it  coming." 

40 


THE    DEVIL 

"I  make  no  plans  beyond  the  morrow." 

"I  know  you,  I  know  men.  Something  is  in 
the  air." 

"Do  be  reasonable,  Fanny." 

"I  am  reasonable,  I  have  always  been  reason- 
able. Lord,  haven't  I,  though!  Women  have 
to  be,  because  men  won't.  They  can't,"  she 
added  with  conviction. 

A  reminiscent  look  came  into  her  eyes.  She 
\vas  glancing  down  the  long  vista  of  her  mis- 
cellaneous experience  of  the  unreasonableness 
of  man.  After  a  while  she  began  to  talk  rap- 
idly, with  growing  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter?  You  have  painted  me 
hundreds  of  times.  Why  shouldn't  you  paint 
me  again?  That's  what  I  am  here  for.  That's 
what  you  pay  me  for.  I  am  perfectly  calm, 
you  see,  I  am  per — feet — ly  calm,  am  I  not? 
Tell  me,  am  I  not?" 

"Be  reasonable,  Fanny." 

"I  am,  I  am.  'Be  reasonable!'  Answer  me, 
am  I  not  perfectly  calm?" 

"Yes,  you  are,  as  phlegmatic  as  an  old  lady 
playing  solitaire." 

41 


THE    DEVIL 

"It  isn't  true,  I  never  play  solitaire.  I  hate 
cards." 

"All  right,  all  right.  Have  a  cigarette.  It 
will  quiet  your  calmness." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  an  elaborately  chased 
cigarette  case,  and  opened  it. 

"Who  gave  you  that  case?"  asked  the  model, 
much  interested,  forgetting  all  about  her  griev- 
ance in  anticipation  of  a  new  one.  "Let  me 
see  it ;  it  is  very  handsome." 

She  took  it  in  her  hands,  and  examined  it 
carefully. 

"The  monogram  is  beautiful,"  she  com- 
mented. "Why  didn't  you  have  a  coronet  put 
over  it?" 

"Because  I  am  not  a  nobleman,  Fanny." 

"All  great  artists  are  princes." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"Henry." 

"And  who  is  Henry?" 

"He  was  a  poet." 

"He  was  a  poet?    Is  he  dead?" 

"No,  indeed.  He  weighs  two  hundred  pounds, 
and  has  a  wife  and  six  children." 

42 


THE    DEVIL 

"Then  he  is  no  longer  a,  poet?" 

"No.  He  is  inspector  of  Belgian  blocks  ip 
the  Department  of  Highways  and  Streets." 

"Sensible  Henry.  But  then  he  is  a  noble- 
man no  longer?" 

"Why  don't  you  want  me  to  pose  any  more?" 

"Really,  Fanny,  your  sudden  changes  of  con- 
versation are  very  disconcerting." 

"That  is  what  men  call  tact,"  commented 
Fanny  to  the  glowing  tip  of  her  cigarette. 
"They  always  treat  us  as  if  we  were  children. 
The  child  bumps  its  head,  and  begins  to  cry. 
'Oh,  look,  at  the  nice  black  horsey  with  the  long 
tail/  says  the  nurse,  and  the  child  forgets  all 
about  the  bump.  A  woman  is  hurt  and  angry, 
and  tries  to  speak  her  mind.  The  man  gets 
scared.  'You  have  a  smudge  on  your  nose,' 
he  says,  or  'Your  veil  is  not  tied  right.' 
Clever  men!  As  if  we  didn't  see  through 
them." 

"But  you  have  led  the  conversation  from  the 
first." 

"I  am  leading  back  to  it  now.  What  were  we 
talking  about?" 

43 


THE    DEVIL 

"About  Henry  and  sonnets  as  the  staff  of  life 
for  a  wife  and  six  children." 

Fanny  looked  puzzled,  then  distrustful.  Then 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  cigarette  case  in  her  lap. 
Her  face  cleared  instantly. 

"Who  gave  you  that  cigarette  case?" 

"Would  you  like  to  know?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"You  think  I  am  jealous.  Nothing  of  the 
kind.  I  got  over  being  jealous  years  ago. 
It  is  a  waste  of  time.  Life  is  too  short.  I 
want  to  know  because  I  think  it  shows  exquisite 
taste." 

"You  think  so?  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  That 
case  was  given  to  me  by  someone  of  whom  I 
think  a  very  great  deal." 

"More  than  of  me?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  do." 

Fanny  picked  the  cigarette  case  out  of  her 
lap  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  as  if  it  were  a 
toad,  and  deposited  it  on  the  table. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked,  sternly. 

"I  thought  this  morning  that  I  would  make 
44 


THE    DEVIL 

myself  a  little  present,  and  so  I  bought  it." 

Fanny  sniffed. 

"Why  do  you  send  me  away  day  after  day?" 
she  asked  again. 

"I  shall  not  need  you  for  a  long  time,  Fanny, 
because  I  am  going  to  paint  somebody's  por- 
trait." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,  Madame  Voross's." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Never  mind,  I  know.  But  that  is  not  the 
reason.  You  are  going  to  be  married."  She 
looked  at  him  triumphantly,  then  added:  "But 
that's  not  the  reason  either." 

"Oh,  it  isn't?" 

"No,  the  reason  is  that  you  are  in  love  with 
Madame  Voross — with  Jolan,  the  beautiful 
Jolan— " 

"That  will  do,  Fanny." 

"And  she  is  in  love  with  you.  I  know  it,  I 
know  it." 

She  continued  to  talk  rapidly,  heedless  of 
Sandor's  attempts  to  stop  her,  her  voice  rising 
to  a  scream. 

"I  know  it!  Why  has  she  never  come  here 
45 


THE    DEVIL 

to  see  you  with  her  husband?  They  are  the 
oldest  friends  you  have  in  Budapest,  and  he 
comes  in  often  enough.  Do  you  think  I  have 
no  eyes,  that  I  cannot  put  two  and  two  together  ? 
You  two  love  each  other,  and  you  are  afraid. 
You  haven't  courage  enough — " 

"Fanny,  be  silent.  I  forbid  you  to  talk  of 
this.  Never  mention  that  lady's  name  again, 
here  or  anywhere  else.  There  are  things  that 
are  beyond  your  range  of  vision,  beyond  your 
mental  and  moral  understanding." 

"Fiddlesticks!  I  know  that  she  is  virtuous, 
and  that  you  are  good,  just  for  this  once;  but 
it  would  be  far  more  honest  for  people  who 
love  each  other  to — to — " 

"Fanny,  this  is  too  much.  You  had  better 
go  home  at  once." 

"Oh,  I  am  going!  And  I  am  never  coming 
back.  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again,  and 
you  needn't  think  it!  The  lease  of  this  studio 
is  going  to  be  renewed,  now  that  she  is  coming 
here,  but  Fanny's  lease  will  not  be  renewed,  and 
for  the  same  reason.  Fanny  must  not  pollute 
the  air  here  for  her!" 

46 


THE    DEVIL 

"Are  you  going?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going.  Oh,  the  strange  virtue 
of  those  high  and  mighty  people!  She  loves 
you,  and  because  she  loves  you,  she  arranges 
a  marriage  for  you  with  a  girl  you  do  not 
love.  Poor  Mademoiselle  Vilma — what's  her 
name?  I  do  not  envy  her.  Yes ;  I  do,  I  do.  Oh, 
Sandor,  forgive  me." 

She  dropped  into  the  Gothic  chair,  rose  from 
it  suddenly,  and  said  very  quietly: 

"Forgive  me,  Sandor.  I  was  wicked  and 
jealous.  I  will  be  a  good  girl.  I  will  go  away, 
and  you  will  let  me  come  again." 

"You  had  better  never  come  here  again, 
Fanny.  I  shall  come  to  see  you.  We  have 
things  to  settle  between  us." 

"Money?" 

"I  want  to  make  some  provision  for  you. 
We  have  been  good  friends  so  long." 

"You  can  give  me  money  when  I  earn  it,  not 
otherwise.  If  I  cannot  pose  for  you,  there  is 
nothing  to  pay  me  for.  And  I  will  accept  no 
more  presents  from  you.  Good-bye." 

The  door  closed  with  a  slam.  Sandor  sat 
47 


THE    DEVIL 

down  again,  half  regretful  that  the  resolution 
he  had  taken  had  ended  in  this  violent  rupture. 
Fanny  had  been  a  loyal  friend,  after  all.  Then, 
with  the  selfishness  of  love,  he  forgot  her,  to 
think  of  the  thing  nearest  to  his  heart. 

Yes,  the  one,  the  only  woman,  was  coming  at 
last  to  have  her  portrait  painted  by  him.  San- 
dor  exulted.  He  had  seen  her  constantly  during 
the  three  years  since  his  return,  for  she  was 
the  wife  of  his  benefactor,  Laszlo  Voross,  the 
man  who  had  lent  him  the  money  to  go  abroad 
for  his  studies. 

Deep  down  in  his  heart  Sandor  Tatray  kept 
inviolate,  in  the  midst  of  his  materialistic  life, 
two  ideals  which  he  worshipped  with  unending 
fidelity  and  enthusiasm,  with  unquestioning 
emotion — Jolan  Voross  and  his  Art.  Her  he 
put  first,  even  though  in  hours  of  inspiration  he 
might  forget  her  for  a  moment  for  the  sake  of 
the  canvas  to  which  he  transferred  the  soul 
as  well  as  the  features  of  his  sitter — a  shallow, 
frivolous  soul,  perhaps,  just  suggested  with  a 
touch  of  cynicism  that  made  connoisseurs 
chuckle  when  they  discussed  the  truth  of  the 

48 


THE    DEVIL 

kikeness  among  themselves;  or  again,  a  noble 
mind  expressed  with  noble  reverence.  But 
ever  Sandor  would  return  to  the  altar  of  his 
divinity.  Her  he  had  sketched  a  thousand 
times  from  the  fulness  of  his  ideal  of  her,  which 
he  knew  was  but  the  truth.  Yes,  Andre  was 
right.  That  portrait  would  be  his  masterpiece, 
since  in  the  loving  preparation  for  it,  it  was 
already  his  life-work. 

His  worship  of  her  was  compact  of  reverence, 
of  high  thoughts  and  noble  purposes.  Not  a 
flaw  of  earthiness,  of  unworthy  desire  marred 
its  beauty.  It  was  the  worship  of  the  devout 
believer  for  his  divinity : 

The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 
Of  the  day  for  the  morrow: 

The  devotion  to  something  afar 
From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow. 

What  were  her  feelings  towards  him?  He 
knew  not;  he  scrupulously  refrained  from  ap- 
proaching the  question  even  in  the  most  exalted 
hours  of  his  exaltation.  She  was  his  good 

49 


THE    DEVIL 

angel,  his  lodestar,  his  inspiration,  the  fount 
of  all  that  was  noble  in  him,  of  the  essen- 
tial purity  that  had  survived  in  him  much 
thoughtless  living,  the  surrender  to  many 
temptations.  She  was  another's,  and,  if  that 
other's  rights  counted  for  nought  in  his  philoso- 
phy, her's  counted  for  everything.  She  must  be 
inviolate,  unapproachable,  pure  as  marble  on 
the  pedestal  in  his  heart,  never  to  be  ap- 
proached but  with  thoughts  worthy  of  her  per- 
fection. 

People  said  she  had  married  for  money,  but 
he  understood.  Life  is  difficult  at  its  begin- 
nings for  a  woman  who  is  beautiful,  delicately 
nurtured,  sensitive — and  penniless. 

Her  husband,  Laszlo  Voross,  was  fifty  when 
she  married  him ;  now  he  was  fifty-six,  and  the 
richest  man  in  the  dual  monarchy.  The  son  of 
a  successful  army  contractor,  he  had  developed 
his  father's  business  to  international  propor- 
tions. The  Balkan  peninsula,  wisely  farmed, 
had  proved  a  veritable  gold  mine.  He  sold  arms 
and  provisions  to  Turk,  Greek,  Macedonian, 
Bulgarian  and  Servian  with  commercial  im- 

50 


THE    DEVIL 

partiality.  He  smuggled  rifles  and  cannon  to 
South  American  revolutionaries  in  his  own 
cargo  steamers,  and  when  there  was  peace 
there,  he  transported  emigrants  in  them.  He 
had  sold  horses  to  the  British  in  South  Africa — 
such  horses! — machetes  to  the  Cubans  and 
Mausers  to  the  Spaniards,  shot-guns,  it  was 
said,  to  the  Herreros :  he  was  the  acknowledged 
prince  of  a  romantic  trade.  Occasionally  his 
government  warned  him;  but  rarely,  for  he 
was  shrewd.  The  wealth  that  rolled  into  his 
coffers  was  invested  in  land,  in  factories,  and 
several  millions  of  it  had  gone,  during  the  last 
two  years,  into  the  building  and  the  adornment 
of  the  grandest  palace  in  Budapest.  Sandor's 
portrait  of  Jolan  was  to  occupy  in  it  the  place 
of  honor. 

Of  the  nature  of  her  husband's  business 
activities  Jolan  Voross  knew  nothing;  of  this 
Sandor  was  sure.  She  gave  freely  of  his  great 
wealth  to  charities,  and  she  gave  of  her  sym- 
pathy and  brain  as  freely  as  of  his  gold.  She 
had  established  an  institution  for  the  education 
and  shelter  of  penniless  girls  of  the  better 

51 


THE    DEVIL 

classes — such  girls  of  whom  she  had  been  one 
when  she  married — with  a  foundation  for 
dowering  them  when  they  should  wed.  She 
had  borne  her  husband  no  children,  but  he  gen- 
erously refrained  from  ever  alluding  to  the 
disappointment  she  knew  he  felt.  Sandor, 
though  he  fought  the  feeling  loyally,  as  un- 
worthy of  the  quality  of  his  worship,  was  con- 
soled by  her  childlessness.  He  frankly  rejoiced 
that  he  had  been  able  to  repay  Voross's  loan  to 
him  so  soon,  thanks  to  that  lucky  day  at  Monte 
Carlo,  even  though  he  loyally  acknowledged  the 
generosity  of  the  rich  man's  intentions. 

That  day  at  Monte  Carlo!  Sandor  had  not 
thought  of  it  in  years.  Its  events  had  become 
blurred  over  night,  he  could  not  remember  the 
face  of  the  Stranger  who  had  saved  him, — his 
second  benefactor, — nothing  of  their  strange 
talk  (he  dimly  knew  that  it  had  been  a  very 
strange  conversation),  nothing  but  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  penniless,  that  confession  to 
Voross  of  the  use  to  which  his  money  had  been 
put  was  out  of  the  question,  and  that  this 
distinguished  Stranger,  with  the  air  of  a  prince. 

52 


THE    DEVIL 

had  helped  him,  and  made  possible  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  career. 

Sandor  lighted  a  cigarette,  a  new  brand 
which  his  tobacconist  had  sent  him  for  trial. 
The  first  whiff  was  strangely  familiar  to  him. 
Surely,  he  had  smoked  these  cigarettes  before? 
He  looked  at  the  package,  then  at  the  slender, 
burning  roll  between  his  fingers.  No,  he  did 
not  known  this  brand.  But  the  cigarette  was 
very  good,  indeed,  a  blend  of  Egyptian,  he 
judged,  with  some  unknown  tobacco. 

He  smoked  on  with  intense  delight,  and  as 
the  light  gray  smoke  rose  in  little  spirals  from 
the  tip,  and  softly  penetrated  his  nostrils  and 
filled  the  air  about  him  with  a  soft,  aromatic 
haze,  his  thoughts  turned  more  definitely  to 
the  gambling  rooms,  the  vision  on  the  Terrace, 
of  the  castle  of  his  hopes  and  ambitions,  and  to 
the  laughing  seductive  faces  at  its  many  case- 
ments. Yes,  it  had  come  true,  and  he  would 
build  far  fairer  than  he  had  dreamt. 

Sandor  lighted  another  cigarette.  The  room 
grew  hazier  and  hazier,  its  far  corners  indis- 
tinct. He  closed  his  eyes,  and  behold !  the  faces 

53 


THE    DEVIL 

at  the  windows  of  his  dream  castle  had  disap- 
peared, all  but  one,  which  smiled  upon  him 
alluringly,  beckoning  him  gently,  softly,  mod- 
estly to  approach,  holding  out  its  arms  suddenly 
with  a  passionate  gesture  of  surrender. 

Impulsively  the  painter  moved  forward — his 
unapproachable  queen,  his  Jolan,  was  calling 
him,  with  the  simple,  silent  cry  of  human  love 
seeking  its  own.  She  had  stepped  down  from 
her  pedestal,  his  divinity  no  longer,  but  a 
warm,  palpitating,  living  woman.  .  .  . 

Sandor  Tatray  awoke,  his  brain  in  a  whirl, 
his  heart  beating  fast.  What!  in  a  dream  he 
had  dared  to  lower  his  idol  to  the  level  of 
common,  frail  humanity? 

He  sat  up  and  shivered,  already  doing  penance 
in  his  heart  for  his  sacrilege,  and  yet — she  had 
been  nearly  his,  their  lips  had  almost  touched. 
He  put  the  vision  from  him,  but  it  returned, 
and  would  not  be  denied.  Unconsciously  he 
faced  it,  and  surrendered  himself  to  the  sensu- 
ous allurement  of  the  dream. 

But  not  for  long. 

"No!"  he  said  aloud,  "No!  I  will  not.  Oh, 
54 


THE    DEVIL 

Jolan,  forgive  me.  I  will  reverence  you  more 
than  ever  now!" 

The  door  opened,  admitting  Andre. 

"The  florist  will  have  the  gardenia  here  by 
nine  o'clock  to-night,  sir.  It  is  expected  by 
the  eight  o'clock  train  from  Italy." 

"All  right,  Andre." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  has  somebody  been  here 
in  my  absence?" 

"No;  why?" 

"The  room  is  full  of  cigarette  smoke,  and 
— I  don't  know — but  it  feels  as  if  somebody 
had  been  here." 

Sandor  was  silent.  Yes,  he  felt  it,  too.  Ah, 
yes,  she  had  been  here  in  that  dream  of  a 
moment.  But  no,  that  was  not  it.  It  was 
something  else — it  eluded  him.  He  looked  into 
the  dim  corners  of  the  apartment,  then 
shivered. 

"Nonsense,"  he  said,  irritably.  "Light  the 
fire.  You  had  better  see  to  it  that  the  door  is 
closed  hereafter,  otherwise  we  shall  be  imagin- 
ing that  there  are  burglars  in  the  house." 

"I  have  looked  in  every  nook  and  corner 
55 


THE    DEVIL 

already,  sir,  and  there  is  nobody  here  but  our- 
selves." 

"All  right  then.  Now  open  the  window  in 
the  studio,  and  leave  the  door  open.  We  want 
some  fresh  air  in  here." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

Sandor  sat  down  by  the  fire  Andre  had  kin- 
dled, which  was  now  flaming  merrily,  casting 
a  red  glow  out  upon  the  Persian  rug  before  it 
and  up  to  the  ceiling,  playing  on  the  way  with 
the  elaborate  carvings  of  the  Gothic  chair,  dye- 
ing purple  its  leather  back,  gilding  as  with  gold 
its  elaborate  oaken  carvings.. 

As  he  sat  staring  there  into  the  glow,  San- 
dor's  peace  of  mind  returned  to  him.  His 
divinity  regained  her  pedestal  in  his  heart, 
unapproachable,  flawless  as  ever.  And  he  bent 
down  before  it  with  all  the  purity  of  his  long 
faith  and  worshipped  with  the  old  singleness 
of  purpose — to  keep  her  there,  his  good  angel, 
his  lodestar,  far  above  all  other  women. 

The  bell  rang  suddenly — a  decisive,  com- 
manding, domineering  ring  that  would  accept 
no  denial. 

56 


THE    DEVIL 

"That's  Voross,"  said  Sandor  to  himself. 

He  got  up  from  his  low  seat  by  the  fire, 
arranged  his  cravat,  hastily  took  a  look  at  his 
face  in  the  small  Venetian  mirror  unobtrusively 
standing  at  one  side  of  the  mantelpiece,  an 
ornament  rather  than  a  convenience,  gave  his 
moustache  the  little  twirl  that  was  an  uncon- 
scious habit  with  him,  and  advanced  into  the 
centre  of  the  room. 

The  bell  rang  again,  with  a  certain  exaspera- 
tion now  added  to  its  command.  Andre  came 
running  in. 

"Hurry,  Andre  ;  where  have  you  been?  Can't 
you  be  more  prompt?" 

A  moment  later  the  servant  opened  the  door 
into  the  den,  and  said,  with  all  the  deference  due 
to  a  man  of  untold  millions : 

"Monsieur  and  Madame  Voross." 

"Pardon  me,  Sandor,  for  ringing  so  hard," 
said  Voross,  as  the  painter  kissed  Jolan's  hand, 
"but  I  am  in  a  hurry,  always  in  a  hurry.  Ah! 
business.  What  do  you  artists  know  about  it?" 

Laszlo  Voross  was  a  bulky  man,  not  tall,  but 
broad  of  back  and  deep  of  chest,  with  a  heavy 

57 


THE    DEVIL 

voice  which  success  had  made  peremptory,  as 
it  had  given  a  touch  of  arrogance  to  his  man- 
mer.  Prosperity  was  writ  large  over  his  cor- 
pulent person,  decision  was  spelled  by  his 
narrow-lipped,  firm  mouth,  but  the  eyes,  small 
and  of  an  indecisive  color,  had  a  friendly 
twinkle  that  attracted.  Eyebrows  he  had  none, 
and  his  head  was  bald  to  the  ear  line.  A  solid 
citizen,  but  not  a  romantic  personage.  But  as 
he  turned  to  his  wife,  a  change  came  over  him, 
of  deference  and  fondness  and  indulgence,  of 
pride,  also,  in  this  the  most  treasured  of  all 
his  possessions. 

"Well,  Jolan,  here  you  are  at  last  in  the  exe- 
cutor's hands,"  he  said,  with  heavy  jocularity. 
Then  to  Sandor: 

"I  have  often  twitted  her  about  her  disin- 
clination to  have  her  portrait  painted.  Of 
course,  we  could  have  none  but  you  to  do  it. 
You  are  a  tradition  in  the  family,  and  then,  a 
portrait  by  Sandor  Tatray!  My  boy,  you  have 
been  successful.  I  am  proud  of  you.  I  con- 
gratulate you." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  murmured  Sandor. 
58 


THE    DEVIL 

Jolan  had  begun  to  walk  about  the  room, 
inspecting  its  many  treasures  with  evident  de- 
light and  understanding.  She  knew  that  it  was 
her  husband's  habit  to  consider  himself  the 
most  important  person  present  wherever  he 
was,  and  to  act,  still  more,  to  talk  accordingly. 
Therefore  she  had  said  nothing  beyond  the 
first  few  words  of  greeting.  Voross  now  con- 
tinued. 

"Yes,  for  three  years  I  have  been  trying  to 
persuade  her  to  sit  to  you.  I  almost  believe 
she  has  some  superstition  about  it.  It  was 
only  the  house  I  have  built  for  her  that  decided 
her  at  last.  A  casket  worthy  of  my  jewel,  you 
know,  and  I  want  her  face  to  be  in  it  even  when 
she  leaves  it  for  a  little  while,  to  greet  me  on 
my  return.  A  little  fancy  of  mine,  you  know." 

He  began  to  button  up  his  overcoat  again, 
and  to  draw  on  his  glove. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  must  be  off.  An  affair 
of  importance,  you  know,  a  large  contract  for 
army  supplies.  I  expect  a  telegram  any  mo- 
ment. If  the  deal  comes  off,  it  will  mean  a 
sable  cloak  for  you,  Jolan." 

59 


THE    DEVIL 

"A  sable  cloak  for  me,"  repeated  Jolan. 
"What  will  you  do  when  there  is  nothing  left 
in  the  world  for  me  to  desire?" 

"I  will  trust  you  for  that.  A  woman  always 
has  unfulfilled  desires,  eh,  Sandor?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  the  painter  lightly. 
"You  know,  I  am  not  a  married  man." 

Voross  laughed  significantly,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"Good-bye." 

"Don't  go  yet,"  said  Jolan  hastily.  "Isn't 
this  a  delightful  room — a  veritable  curiosity 
shop,  an  art  museum,  I  should  say." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  husband,  "very  interest- 
ing place.  Who  is  the  lady  of  the  portrait  over 
there,  Sandor?  Oh,  of  course,  that's  the  famous 
Fanny.  Is  she  about?  I  should  like  to  see  her." 

"No,  she  is  not  about,"  answered  Sandor, 
shortly.  This  reference,  in  Jolan's  presence,  to 
the  model  embarrassed  him. 

"Well,  my  son,  I  wonder  if  you  will  paint 
her  very  often  after  you  are  married.  I  dare 
say  Vilma  will  see  to  that.  You  understand 
that  we  give  this  great  house-warming  chiefly 

60 


THE    DEVIL 

for  you  and  her.  Jolan  has  set  her  heart  on 
this  match,  and  you  could  not  please  us  better 
than  by  announcing  your  engagement  to-night 
in  our  new  home,  on  the  day  of  its  formal 
opening." 

"I  shall  speak  to  her  about  it." 

"Vilma  is  a  charming  girl,"  said  Jolan, 
softly.  "She  will  make  you  a  good,  loyal,  lov- 
ing wife." 

"Well,  I'm  off,"  repeated  Voross. 

His  wife  again  detained  him. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  she  said.  "Now  about 
the  portrait.  Let  us  understand  each  other 
clearly." 

"Half-length,  seated,  decolletee,  in  ball- 
gown," said  Sandor.  "The  portrait  is  to  be 
painted  for  the  library,  and  is  to  hang  over  the 
mantel.  Color  scheme  of  library,  green  and 
gold.  I  have  seen  it,  I  have  sat  in  it  and  looked 
at  it  and  at  the  mantelpiece;  I  have  made  the 
proper  preparations  here  in  the  studio.  I  think 
I  can  promise  that  you  will  be  content  with 
me." 

"We  know,  we  know,"  broke  in  the  husband 
61 


THE    DEVIL 

again,  with  his  unconscious  patronage.  "We 
expect  nothing  less  from  you.  We  want  you 
to  be  known  hereafter  as  the  painter  of  the 
Voross  picture.  And  now  I'm  really  off.  What 
time  shall  I  come  back  for  her,  Sandor?" 

"It  will  be  dark  in  an  hour,  and  you  know, 
unlike  you,  I  can  work  only  by  daylight." 

"That  does  not  give  you  much  time  for  the 
first  sitting." 

"We  can  find  the  pose,  and  the  proper  light, 
and  I  can  make  the  sketch  so  as  to  have  it  ready 
for — when  shall  we  have  the  next  sitting?" 

"Oh,  we  can  arrange  that  later  on,"  Jolan 
broke  in,  somewhat  nervously.  "No,  no,  better 
settle  it  right  now,"  she  added,  eagerly,  as  Vo- 
ross took  up  his  hat. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  fondly,  "never  before  in 
the  six  years  of  our  married  life  have  you 
detained  me  from  my  business  so  long.  It  is 
highly  flattering  to  me,  but  really,  I  must  be 
off.  Think  of  that  sable  cloak!" 

"What  will  you  do  if  you  cannot  return  in 
time?" 


"I  will  send  the  carriage  back  for  you.  Don't 
worry,  I  shan't  forget  you." 

He  began  to  move  towards  the  door,  but 
stopped  again  half  way. 

"Well,  Sandor,  I  leave  you  my  dearest  pos- 
session. I  trust  you." 

He  resolutely  turned  around,  and  walked 
swiftly  to  the  door.  Sandor  opened  it,  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  The  painter  was  alone 
with  the  woman — at  last. 


63 


CHAPTER  II 

ENTER — THE  DEVIL 

SANDOR  closed  the  door  behind  Voross,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  dark  hall,  with  his 
hand  on  the  knob.  His  temples  throbbed,  his 
blood  leaped,  his  brain  raced  with  confused 
thoughts  that  vainly  sought  to  bring  some 
order,  some  reason,  into  his  riotous  emotions. 

She  was  here,  alone,  with  him!  The  realiza- 
tion of  the  fact  crowded  every  other  thought 
into  the  background.  It  was  the  fact  itself  that 
thus  affected  him :  its  possibilities,  its  meaning, 
did  not  come  home  to  him.  Jolan  still  stood 
on  her  pedestal  in  the  temple  of  his  heart, 
serene  and  unapproachable,  but — she  was 
present  in  the  body,  closer  to  him  than  she 
had  been  for  even  a  single  minute  during 
the  three  years  since  his  return — the  years 
of  calm,  friendly  intercourse  under  the  pro- 
tection of  her  husband's  roof.  She  was  now 

64 


THE    DEVIL 

sitting  by  his  fireside,  probably,  awaiting  him. 

The  painter  closed  his  eyes.  He  must  com- 
pose himself,  must  be  master  of  himself  before 
he  went  into  her  presence.  He  was  young,  he 
was  impulsive — he  realized  that  good  resolu- 
tions may  be  overthrown  by  an  unexpected  rush 
of  irresistible  emotion.  And  so  he  waited, 
exerting  all  his  will  power  to  subdue  this  un- 
foreseen tumult  in  his  breast.  The  dream  image 
of  the  afternoon,  in  the  delicate  blue-gray  haze 
of  the  cigarette,  rose  before  him.  He  warded 
it  off,  mechanically  with  his  hand — banished 
it  from  his  insurgent  memory. 

Calm  returned  to  him.  The  pure,  distant 
worship  of  three  long  years  reasserted  itself, 
and  when  he  re-entered  the  room  it  was 
with  the  feeling  of  a  devotee  whose  idol  has 
been  transported  from  some  strange  shrine  to 
that  erected  by  his  own  hands,  to  be  adored 
there  more  worthily  than  ever. 

Jolan  was  till  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  her  coat  still  tightly  buttoned,  her  hands 
still  gloved.  Something  in  her  attitude  sug- 


65 


THE    DEVIL 

gested  the  departing  casual  visitor  rather  than 
the  arriving  sitter. 

"Why,  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  take 
your  leave  at  once,"  said  Sandor,  on  the  impulse 
of  the  moment. 

"I  wish  that  I  had  gone  with  my  husband.  I 
should  have  made  some  excuse — a  headache — 
anything  at  all." 

"But  why?" 

"I  cannot  tell,  but  I  feel  that  I  want  to  go 
away,  that  it  would  be  better  if  I  did  not  have 
my  picture  painted.  I  have  always  felt  about 
it  that  way ;  I  have  refused  for  three  years,  but 
Laszlo  has  insisted.  Call  it  superstition,  if  you 
will,  or  premonition,  but — there  it  is,  and  I 
feel  it  stronger  now  than  ever  before.  On  the 
way  here,  in  the  carriage,  I  wanted  to  protest, 
to  appeal  to  my  husband,  but  I  dared  not. 
What  reason  could  I  have  given?" 

She  shivered  a  little,  as  Sandor  had  shivered 
earlier  in  the  day. 

"Sit  down  a  moment  by  the  fire,  Jolan.  The 
drive  may  have  chilled  you.  It  is  very  cold  to- 
day." 

66 


THE    DEVIL 

"It  is  not  that,  for  my  hands  are  warm  and 
my  cheeks  burn." 

"Why  should  you  feel  that  way  about  it? 
Having  one's  portrait  painted  is  a  very  simple 
experience.  One  finds  the  pose,  and — there 
you  are.  When  you  are  tired,  we  stop  for  the 
day." 

"I  know,  Sandor,  I  know — but  I  feel  so 
strange  here." 

"Ah,  yes,  in  all  these  three  years  that  I  have 
been  a  welcome  friend  in  your  house,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  induce  you  to  visit  me  in 
mine.  Laszlo  always  had  some  perfectly  nat- 
ural story  to  account  for  his  coming  alone — it 
never  has  seemed  to  strike  him,  but  I  knew, 
and  felt  it,  and  it  made  me  sorry  that  you 
should  thus  evade  me." 

"Well,  I  have  come  at  last,  have  I  not?  Here 
I  am,  and  now  I  know  that  my  feeling  in  the 
matter  was  right." 

"But  surely,  Jolan— " 

"I  cannot  help  it,  Sandor.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
utterly  alone  in  the  world,  without  protection. 
I  ought  to  have  brought  my  maid." 

67 


THE    DEVIL 

"Did  Laszlo  suggest  it?" 

"I  do  not  believe  that  he  gave  the  question  a 
moment's  thought,  and  yet — why  did  he  say 
just  now  that  he  trusted  you?" 

"Did  he?  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  he  did.  I  doubt 
that  he  attached  any  particular  meaning  to  it. 
You  know,  one  often  says  things  that  sound 
quite  differently  from  the  speaker's  intention." 

"I  do  not  know,  Sandor.  I  have  often 
thought  that  he  knew — well,  of  our  friendship 
six  years  ago." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Jolan,  the  same  idea  has 
occurred  to  me.  Indeed,  I  have  a  suspicion 
that  he  lent  me  the  money  to  go  abroad  just 
after  your  marriage  because — because  he  may 
have  thought  that  it  would  be  better  for  me, 
easier  for  me,  if  I  did  not  see  you  for  some 
time." 

"You  mean  if  we  did  not  see  each  other,  do 
you  not?  We  might  as  well  be  frank." 

"Well,  yes.  I  mean  no  disloyalty  to  Laszlo, 
who  has  been  a  true  friend  to  me  from  first  to 
last,  ever  ready  to  be  of  service,  using  all  his 
great  influence  in  my  behalf,  always  anxious, 

68 


THE    DEVIL 

in  the  early  days,  that  I  should  not  be  hampered 
by  lack  of  money.  But  he  is  a  clever  man, 
a  manager  of  large  affairs — why  should  he  not 
have  undertaken  to  manage  his  young  wife  a 
little,  and  her  young  friend  a  very  great  deal?" 

"And  oh,  he  was  wise,  was  he  not,  Sandor? 
Your  success  proves  that." 

"Yes,  he  was  wise.  It  was  fate,  I  suppose, 
that  shaped  our  fortunes.  And  yet,  I  some- 
times dream  of  another  life,  humble,  obscure, 
harassed  by  poverty,  that  still  might  have  been 
infinitely  sweet." 

"Don't,  Sandor,  don't." 

Jolan  had  grown  very  pale.  There  were 
tears  in  her  eyes,  her  lips  trembled,  and  she 
plucked  nervously  at  her  gloves. 

"It  is  a  selfish  dream,"  continued  Sandor, 
slowly,  "which  would  rob  you  of  all  that  makes 
your  existence  beautiful  and  wide,  that  fills  it 
with  the  fulness  of  gratified  desires." 

The  fire  burned  dim  and  low.  The  room  was 
filled  with  the  mysterious  silence  of  falling  twi- 
light. The  two  heads  bent  a  little  closer  to- 
gether in  their  chairs  by  the  fender. 

69 


THE    DEVIL 

"Sandor,"  said  Jolan,  softly,  "we  can  afford 
now  to  talk  about  the  past.  It  is  over  and  done 
with — a  boy-and-girl  fancy  that  would  have 
died  a  natural  death  in  any  event." 

"A  boy-and-girl  fancy,"  answered  the  painter, 
in  the  same  low,  level  tones.  "Yes,  we  were 
young,  very  young.  You  were  barely  nineteen, 
and  I  was  twenty-two.  It  was  a  hard  life  for 
both  of  us,  Jolan — for  you,  the  poor  governess 
in  the  rich  man's  house ;  for  me,  the  poor  strug- 
gling drawing-master  who  had  cold  water  and 
dry  bread  for  his  breakfast,  and  often  could 
not  paint  because,  with  all  his  self-denial,  he 
could  not  buy  paint  and  brushes  and  canvas. 
My  widowed  father  had  had  ambitions  for  me, 
he  had  done  his  best  to  fit  me  for  my  career, 
but  he  died  when  I  was  eighteen,  and  you  know 
that  government  clerks  do  not  leave  compe- 
tences behind  them  when  they  die.  Oh,  it  was 
a  hard  struggle,  a  bitter  struggle,  until  I  earned 
my  first  few  guldens  in  the  house  of  your  hus- 
band's father,  teaching  the  little  son  of  his 
second  marriage  how  to  sharpen  a  pencil." 

"It  was  a  hard,  a  bitter  struggle  for  me, 
70 


THE    DEVIL 

Sandor.  Like  you,  alone  in  the  world;  like 
you,  the  daughter  of  a  poor  government  em- 
ployee, an  assistant  teacher  in  a  girls'  school 
at  seventeen, — nursery  governess  in  reality, 
harassed  by  unruly,  spoiled  children  of  rich 
people  on  the  one  hand,  snubbed  by  the  head- 
mistress and  the  teachers  on  the  other, — I  felt 
as  if  heaven  had  opened  to  me  when  I  entered 
the  Voro'ss  home  as  companion  to  that  dear 
little  child  that  died  so  soon." 

"And  Laszlo  was  there." 

"And  Laszlo  was  there — the  oldest  son,  a 
man  grown,  serious,  full  of  affairs,  his  father's 
pride." 

"He  seemed  so  old  to  me  then,"  said  Sandor, 
reminiscently.  "He  was  nearly  fifty  at  that 
time." 

"He  seemed  so  old  to  me  then,"  echoed  Jolan, 
under  her  breath,  surrendering  more  and  more 
to  the  charm  of  their  innocent  reminiscences. 
She  felt  at  ease  now,  comfortably  ensconced 
before  that  softly  glowing  fire. 

"And  then,"  continued  the  painter,  "and 
then  we  began  to  meet  in  the  school-room.  Your 

71 


THE    DEVIL 

little  pupil  was  so  interested  in  what  my  little 
pupil  was  doing,  that  you  must  bring  her  in  to 
look  on  a  moment  at  every  lesson."  He  laughed 
softly,  with  fond  raillery. 

"I  brought  her  in  to  look  on,"  she  repeated, 
dreamily,  her  gaze  upon  the  dying  glow  of  the 
fire. 

"How  long  was  it?  I  don't  remember,"  con- 
tinued Sandor,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "Those 
lessons,  twice  a  week,  became  the  only  happiness 
in  my  narrow,  hopeless  existence.  I  forgot  that 
I  could  have  no  future  without  the  means  to 
lay  its  foundations.  I  forgot  my  shabby  clothes, 
my  cold  room,  my  hunger,  my  misery.  You 
would  be  there,  at  the  end  of  the  hour,  to  talk 
to  me  for  a  moment,  to  smile  that  wondrous 
smile  which  your  eyes  reflected  from  your  lips, 
to  give  me  courage  to  live  through  the  days 
until  that  hour  came  around  again." 

"And  I  counted  the  hours  that  intervened." 

"Then — do  you  remember,  Jolan,  do  you 
remember — that  day  when  the  little  girl  was 
indisposed,  and  you  came  in  alone  to  tell  the 
boy  that  his  new  pony  was  in  the  stable?  Do 

72 


THE    DEVIL 

you  remember  how  he  rushed  from  the  room 
without  thinking  of  asking  permission,  how  he 
left  us  alone  together?" 

"He  left  us  alone.  It  was  the  first  time  and 
the  last." 

"And  then  we  kissed  each  other — one  timid, 
gentle  kiss.  I  have  never  forgotten  it.  That 
same  evening  you  accepted  Laszlo." 

"Oh!"  cried  Jolan,  "Oh,  you  did  not  under- 
stand! I  feared  you  would  not,  I  have  feared 
it  all  these  years." 

"I  did  understand,  Jolan — dear.  Misery 
teaches  us  to  understand  early.  You  were  alone 
in  the  world,  with  none  to  guide  or  advise  you ; 
you  were  inexperienced,  you  knew  nothing  of 
life,  and  Laszlo  was  very  gentle  and  good  to 
you,  as  he  was  friendly  and  encouraging  to 
me." 

"Gentle  and  good,  and  friendly  and  encourag- 
ing. Yes,  Laszlo  has  been  all  these  things. 
He  is  masterful  only  in  his  business  dealings. 
He  has  to  be,  he  says." 

"He  was  masterful,  and  he  took  you,  a  little 
girl  knowing  nothing  of  life,  as  he  would  have 

73 


THE    DEVIL 

plucked  a  rosebud.  How  could  an  awakening 
sentiment,  hardly  realized,  how  could  one  single, 
timid  kiss  have  barred  his  way?" 

"Yes,  it  was  a  boy-and-girl  affair." 

"But  it  was  sweet,  unspeakably  sweet." 

"You  have  forgotten  it,  Sandor.  Tell  me 
that  you  have  forgotten  it?" 

"Have  you,  Jolan?  Oh,  forgive  me,  I  have 
no  right  to  ask  you." 

"I  am  Laszlo  Voross's  wife."  She  said  it 
very  gently,  robbing  the  rebuke  of  all  its  sting. 
"I  have  a  husband  who  is  ever  kind  and  thought- 
ful, whose  wisdom  smoothes  many  a  rough  place 
on  my  path,  who  indulges  me  in  all  my  desires, 
who  would  spoil  me  utterly  if  I  would  let  him." 

Jolan  sat  upright.  The  spell  was  passing. 
One  look  she  gave  him  in  which  there  was  a 
world  of  feeling.  Then  she  got  up. 

"Of  course  you  have  forgotten  that  boy-and- 
girl  affair,"  she  decided  for  him,  with  a  frank 
smile,  "for  are  you  not  going  to  be  married? 
Have  you  not  promised  to  announce  your  en- 
gagement at  the  formal  opening  of  the  new 
Voross  home  to-night?  Think  of  the  eclat  in 

74 


THE    DEVIL 

the  papers.  'The  great  portrait  painter,  San- 
dor  Tatray,  and  Mademoiselle  Vilma  Toth,  the 
heiress,  last  night  announced  their  coming 
marriage  at  the  great  ball  given  by  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Voross  in  their  new  palace.' 
Laszlo  will  be  content.  He  has  his  little  vani- 
ties. And  to-morrow  morning  you  will  have 
forgotten  altogether." 

"I  will  put  away  the  memory,  Jolan,  but 
once  in  a  long  while  I  shall  open  the  secret 
drawer  in  which  it  is  kept,  and  take  it  out,  and 
remember  the  sweetest  moment  of  my  youth." 

"And  now,"  said  Jolan,  rising  briskly,  "to 
work.  I  am  glad  now  that  I  came,  Sandor. 
We  shall  be  better  friends  now  than  ever,  loyal 
friends  on  the  journey  through  life — you  and 
I  and  Laszlo  and  Vilma. 

"Monsieur  Tatray,"  she  went  on  with  playful 
formality,  "you  have  consented  to  paint  my 
portrait,  and  have  arranged  for  the  first  sitting 
to-day.  What  must  I  do?" 

"Madame  Voross,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to 
take  off  that  blouse  and  arrange  this  scarf 
around  your  shoulders.  It  is  the  color  of  the 

75 


THE    DEVIL 

ball-dress  in  which  you  are  to  be  painted,  but 
you  need  not  bring  it  until  we  have  decided 
upon  the  pose,  and  I  have  made  the  sketch.  I 
made  a  charcoal  drawing  yesterday :  it  is  on  my 
easel,  but  since  I  have  seen  you  here,  I  know 
that  it  will  not  do.  I  have  always  wished  to 
paint  you,  though  I  carefully  refrained  from 
telling  you — you  know  why.  I  have  sketched 
you  a  hundred  times,  and  kept  the  sketches 
in  a  portfolio  under  lock  and  key.  Yours  is 
going  to  be  my  best  picture.  I  feel  it,  I  know 
it. 

"And  now  I  shall  leave  you  alone  while  you 
exchange  your  blouse  for  the  scarf.  I  lock  the 
door  into  the  hall — so.  Now  I  lock  this  door, 
which  leads  to  my  dressing-room  and  the  rest 
of  the  apartment — so.  Then  I  go  through  this 
door  into  the  studio,  and  you  lock  it  behind 
me.  Nobody  is  here,  nobody  can  get  in.  You 
will  be  alone." 

Sandor  went  towards  the  glass  door  that 
led  into  the  studio,  and  looked  through  it  and 
through  the  great  north  window  beyond  it. 

"It  is  growing  dark,"  he  said,  "there  is  a 
76 


THE    DEVIL 

snow  storm  coming  up.  I  am  afraid  that  the 
light  won't  be  very  good,  and  that  it  won't 
last  long." 

"Why  not  put  it  off  till-to-morrow?"  asked 
Jolan,  entirely  without  afterthought.  Sandor 
turned  from  the  door,  and  looked  at  her. 

"And  your  husband?"  he  said. 

"How — my  husband?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  are  we  to  tell  him?  He  will  naturally 
ask  what  we  have  been  doing  during  more 
than  an  hour.  He  is  very  observant.  He  will 
note  that  this  storm  is  coming  up,  and  say  to 
himself,  'Well,  Sandor  had  time  to  work  a  little 
before  the  light  failed  him,  anyhow.'  ' 

Jolan  was  silent.  All  the  doubts,  the  vague 
fears,  the  premonitions  that  had  kept  her 
away  from  this  place  for  so  long,  that  had 
prompted  her  through  three  years  to  persist 
in  her  refusal  to  have  her  picture  painted  there, 
came  trooping  back  to  her.  She  knew  that 
deep  in  his  heart  Laszlo  was  passionately  jeal- 
ous, with  the  jealousy  of  an  elderly  man  for 
his  young  wife — the  jealousy  of  proud  pos- 
session rather  than  of  love. 

77 


THE    DEVIL 

"Then  what  are  we  to  do?"  she  asked, 
blankly. 

"Get  to  work  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Next  time  I  .will  bring  my  maid." 

"You  cannot  do  that  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"Laszlo  will  want  to  know  the  reason.  He 
will  grow  suspicious,  don't  you  see?  Of  me,  of 
course,  not  of  you,"  he  added,  hastily. 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  had  never  begun  it.  Some- 
thing told  me." 

"Not  at  all,  Jolan.  You  are  only  a  bit  nerv- 
ous. You  are  locked  in,  now  lock  me  out,  and 
when  you  are  ready,  open  this  door  and  call 
me." 

He  went  out,  and  Jolan  turned  the  key  be- 
hind him. 

Left  alone,  she  stood  a  moment  undecided. 
She  felt  unutterably  depressed,  as  if  warned 
of  some  unknown  danger  ahead  of  her.  She 
shivered  again,  and  resumed  her  seat  before 
the  fire,  facing  the  Gothic  chair,  which  the  low 
fire  no  longer  crimsoned  and  gilded  with  its 
leaping  flames,  leaving  it  in  the  semi-obscurity 

78 


THE    DEVIL 

of  the  shadow  cast  by  the  fading  daylight  on 
its  tall,  four-peaked  back. 

She  sighed  a  little,  got  up,  took  the  scarf 
from  the  table  on  which  Sandor  had  placed  it, 
resumed  her  seat,  and  unbuttoned  the  collar 
of  her  blouse. 

Then  she  stopped,  and  looked  around  the 
room.  She  was  alone,  she  knew,  locked  in, 
safe  from  all  intrusion — there  was  no  one,  there 
could  be  no  one  there,  and  yet,  she  felt  as  if 
she  were  being  watched,  from  afar.  She  was 
conscious  of  the  partial  disrobing  she  was  about 
to  begin — conscious  as  she  had  been  on  the 
night  of  her  wedding. 

The  comparison  struck  her.  So  that  was 
it?  And  this  was  the  total  result  of  six  years  of 
constant  self-discipline,  of  loyalty  in  deed  and 
word  and  thought.  Their  long,  tender  talk  just 
now,  innocent  of  all  harm — had  it  set  in  mo- 
tion the  springs  of  forbidden  thought — sum- 
moned from  the  tomb  the  dread  ghost  of  a 
lost  love  decently  interred?  Had  she  not 
killed  that  love  and  forbidden  its  very  memory 
an  entrance  to  the  chamber  of  her  heart?  No; 

79 


THE    DEVIL 

here  it  was — clamoring  for  admission,  demand- 
ing its  rights — simply  because  she  was  about 
to  bare  her  shoulders  for  a  simple  purpose  in 
the  house  of  the  man  she  loved — alone  with 
him. 

Alone  with  him!  The  consciousness  of  that 
fact  would  not  leave  her.  It  obsessed  her:  it 
obtruded  itself  as  if  suggested  by  some  mental 
power  from  without. 

Jolan  was  no  prude.  She  had  bared  her 
arms  and  shoulders  before  in  public,  at  dinners, 
at  dances,  at  receptions,  at  the  opera.  But — 
it  was  the  first  time  the  coincidence  struck 
her — Sandor  had  never  seen  her  on  these  cere- 
monial occasions;  had  he  kept  away  from 
them  on  purpose,  and  for  that  very  reason? 
Had  he  been  afraid? 

But  then — 

A  thought  sprang  suddenly  into  being  in  her 
agitated  mind,  a  thought  that  changed  into  a 
wish,  a  wish  that  for  a  moment  took  on  the 
strength  of  intensest  impulse.  .  .  .  She  turned 
towards  the  door  of  the  studio. 

Jolan  recovered  her  poise  with  an  effort. 
80 


THE    DEVIL 

She  grew  pale,  then  began  to  blush,  the  red 
spreading  from  her  cheeks  to  the  stately  column 
of  her  white  neck.  She  felt  it  burning  the 
flesh  under  the  thin  silk  of  her  blouse,  as  it 
burned  her  ears  and  smarted  her  eyes.  She 
hastily  began  to  button  the  collar  again,  gaz- 
ing before  her  with  unseeing  eyes.  She  recog- 
nized the  potency  of  a  force  which  hitherto  she 
had  held  to  be  subject  to  a  resolution  that  is 
honestly  exerted.  She  who,  from  her  sheltered 
pedestal,  had  somewhat  scornfully  pitied  and 
judged,  suddenly  understood. 

Ah,  but  she  was  not  like  these  others.  She 
was  strong,  not  weak!  she  would  prove  it,  and 
vindicate  her  right  to  sit  in  judgment. 

"No,"  she  said  aloud,  as  if  to  convince  her- 
self, "this  is  unworthy  of  me,  unworthy  of  the 
high  standard  I  set  for  myself  when  I  promised 
to  give  loyalty  where  I  could  not  give  love.  It  is 
unworthy  of  that  love  where  it  has  been  be- 
stowed by  a  force  outside  myself,  unworthy  of 
Sandor,  so  true  to  Laszlo  and  to  me — to  honor. 
Oh,  if  he  could  have  read  my  thoughts,  if  he 
could  have  surprised  that  one  moment  of  temp- 

81 


THE    DEVIL 

tation,  how  I  would  fall  from  the  eminence  on 
which  he  has  set  me." 

She  resolutely  began  unfastening  the  waist 
from  first  button  to  last,  drawing  it  apart  to 
the  shoulders.  Then  she  stopped  again,  con- 
scious once  more  of  that  vague,  disconcerting 
feeling  that  she  was  being  watched.  She  took 
another  look  around  the  room,  shook  off  the 
impression,  got  up  from  the  chair,  and  took 
oif  the  waist,  baring  her  fine  shoulders,  her 
firm,  lovely  arms  tapering  from  shoulder  to 
wrist. 

She  turned  to  the  Venetian  mirror  over  the 
fire  and  looked  at  herself.  Yes,  she  was  beauti- 
ful. The  serenity  that  was  the  great  charm  of 
her  face  had  returned  to  it;  her  large  brown 
eyes  gazed  steadily  and  frankly  back  at  her, 
their  depths  untroubled.  The  full  mouth  smiled 
a  little  over  the  rounded  chin.  The  masses  of 
her  chestnut  hair  crowned  the  smooth  brow 
and  framed  the  small  ears.  The  fire  leaped  up 
at  this  moment,  illuminated  her  features  with 
a  high  light,  flickered  over  them  with  a  strange 
effect  of  semi-shadows,  then  settled  down  again 

82 


THE    DEVIL 

to  its  soft  red  glow  under  white-gray  ashes. 

This  glimpse  of  her  beauty,  of  its  dignified 
calm,  the  outward  expression  of  a  long  and 
intense  inner  struggle  won,  reassured  Jolan. 
She  felt  again  the  model  wife  of  her  elderly 
husband — a  dignified,  stately  woman,  without 
reproach,  who  pays  in  virtue  and  the  fulfilment 
of  duty  the  price  that  she  cannot  pay  in  love. 

Now  the  scarf.  She  took  it  from  the  chair 
where  she  had  placed  it,  and  looked  again  in 
the  mirror.  No ;  the  glass  was  too  small  to  aid 
her  in  any  satisfactory  arrangement  of  its  filmy 
mass.  She  must  just  throw  it  around  her,  and 
look  in  the  larger  looking-glass  that  she  would 
undoubtedly  find  in  the  studio  itself.  She 
turned  around,  the  drapery  in  one  hand,  the 
waist  in  the  other,  looking  for  some  place  to 
hang  it  upon. 

The  peaked  back  of  the  Gothic  chair :  it  would 
be  safe  there  until  it  would  be  needed  again. 

Jolan  went  towards  it,  then  gave  a  muffled 
cry  of  astonishment  and  fright.  Her  heart 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  began  to  beat 
fast,  sending  the  blood  racing  to  her  temples. 

83 


THE    DEVIL 

She  spasmodically  grasped  veil  and  blouse  and 
instinctively  held  them  up  to  her  chin. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  the  chair,  empty  but  a 
moment  before,  there  rose,  with  a  smile 
of  politely  dissimulated  mockery,  a  Stranger, 
who  advanced  towards  her  and  bowed  with 
courtly  grace. 

Jolan's  unnerved  fingers  dropped  the  blouse. 
The  Stranger  stooped,  picked  it  up,  and  said 
in  a  deep,  well-modulated  voice,  the  voice  of  a 
man  of  culture  and  breeding: 

"Allow  me,  Madame." 

Jolan  continued  to  stare  at  him  in  speechless 
amazement.  Where  had  he  come  from? 

The  Stranger  was  a  man  between  thirty-five 
and  forty,  swarthy  of  complexion,  swarthier 
even  than  most  Hungarians,  with  the  stamp 
upon  him  of  tropical  heats.  His  coal-black  eyes 
were  set  deep  under  curiously  arched  eyebrows, 
his  lustreless  black  hair  was  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle and  brushed  abruptly  backward,  leaving 
an  arrow-point  in  the  middle  of  the  high  fore- 
head, which  indicated  the  beginning  of  a  line 
that  was  continued  in  the  long,  bowed  nose  and 

84 


THE    DEVIL 

the  lean,  prominent  chin.  His  complexion  had 
a  tinge  of  olive  in  it.  It  was  a  striking  face, 
and  it  had  great  distinction.  The  man  was 
immaculately  dressed  in  a  frock  coat  and  trou- 
sers of  dark  material,  with  a  quiet,  sober  ele- 
gance that  suggested  good  taste,  an  accom- 
plished valet,  and  a  London  tailor.  The  only 
bit  of  color  in  his  appearance  was  a  red  scarf, 
a  triumph  of  the  sense  of  felicitous  contrast. 

Jolan  continued  to  stare  at  the  man,  fright- 
ened, indignant,  yet  attracted  and  at  the  same 
time  repelled  by  that  strange  face,  with  its 
unmistakable  aristocratic  stamp  and  its  elusive 
mockery. 

"Permit  me  to  explain,  Madame,"  he  resumed, 
in  a  deep,  cultivated  voice  that  had  a  soothing 
quality.  "Permit  me  to  explain.  I  am  an  old 
friend  of  Sandor's.  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
several  years.  I  arrived  here  suddenly  this 
afternoon.  No  one  answered  my  ring  at  the 
bell — I  tried  the  door,  it  was  open.  I  entered, 
sat  down  in  this  chair,  and  fell  asleep.  I  awoke, 
I  saw  you  in  the  act  of  disrobing.  Imagine 
the  position  in  which  I  was  placed.  What 

85 


THE    DEVIL 

should  I  do?  Keep  quiet,  since  you  evidently 
had  not  seen  me  when  I  entered.  But  then — 
you  might  have  discovered  me  later,  and  your 
confusion  would  have  been  all  the  greater.  I 
could  never  have  persuaded  you  that  I  had 
been  asleep  all  the  time.  And  so — I  awoke  just 
as  you  had  taken  off  your  waist — I  thought  it 
best  to  make  my  presence  known  before — " 

Jolan  saw  the  insinuation,  and  found  her 
voice. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "be  silent.  Monsieur 
Tatray  will  speak  with  you." 

Turning  to  the  studio  door,  she  struck  the 
glass  sharply  with  her  fist.  "Sandor!"  she 
called,  "Sandor!  Come  here  immediately." 

The  Stranger  smiled  to  himself,  and  mur- 
mured, under  his  breath: 

"A  good  beginning.  At  the  very  first  words 
I  speak,  she  admits  that  she  is  in  a  false  posi- 
tion. Now  they  will  begin  to  explain.  Satan, 
you  grow  cleverer  every  year." 


86 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  DEVIL'S  STRATEGY 

SANDOR  entered  the  den  through  the  door 
which  Jolan  had  unlocked  with  fumbling  haste. 

"There  is  a  stranger  here,"  she  began  ex- 
citedly, slipping  into  her  coat,  and  buttoning  it 
to  the  chin — "an  old  friend  of  yours,  he  says. 
He — he  saw  me,  and — and — " 

The  painter  turned  toward  the  Stranger  and 
looked  at  him  in  speechless  astonishment. 

"Well,  Sandor,  don't  you  recognize  me?" 

"Will  you  explain?"  The  artist's  question 
had  a  menacing  ring  in  it. 

"You  really  do  not  remember  me?  At  Monte 
Carlo,  one  day,  six  years  ago,  and  more?  Oh, 
Sandor,  you  hurt  my  feelings!  Here  I  arrive 
with  a  heart  overflowing  with  affection  and 
good  intentions,  rejoicing  to  press  the  hand  of 
the  dear  fellow  in  whose  brilliant  career  I.  too, 
can  claim  a  little  share,  and — " 

87 


THE    DEVIL 

"The  Stranger  of  Monte  Carlo!  Indeed,  in- 
deed, I  remember  you.  I  was  ruined,  my  future 
was  spoiled  beyond  repair,  I  had  lost  every 
penny — money  that  had  been  lent  me  for  an- 
other purpose — and  you  saved  me.  Ah,  you 
are  indeed  welcome,  sir,  and  may  Heaven  bless 
you." 

The  Stranger  shrank  back  for  an  impercepti- 
ble moment,  a  pallor  creeping  under  his  olive 
skin.  Then  he  straightened  his  graceful  figure, 
and  said,  jauntily: 

"We'll  waive  the  blessing.  Heaven  has  its 
prejudices.  But  I  accept  the  welcome.  Ah!  I 
was  not  mistaken." 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten  that  day,"  con- 
tinued Sandor,  with  growing  animation,  "but 
the  memory  of  it  is  confused.  You  gave  me 
a  handful  of  gold  that  glittered  strangely — " 

"Gold  always  glitters  more  when  others  have 
it  in  abundance,  and  we  ourselves  are  penniless. 
But  I  lent  you  the  money  in  bank  notes — " 

"I  had  forgotten — I  thought  .  .  .  Are  you 
sure?  And  you  said  strange  things — " 

"It  was  you  who  said  strange  things,  Sandor, 


THE    DEVIL 

of  a  girl  whom  you  loved,  who  had  pledged  her 
troth  to  you,  and  on  the  same  day  accepted 
another  man." 

Sandor  and  Jolan  stared  at  each  other  in 
frightened  amazement. 

"You  raved  that  you  could  never  for- 
get her,  that  you  knew  she  loved  you,  that 
you  must  keep  away  from  her  for  both 
your  sakes.  .  .  .Oh,  you  did  not  blame 
her.  She  was  young,  you  said,  and  alone, 
and  poor,  and  that  other  man  rich  and 
masterful." 

"I  do  not  remember  anything  of  the  kind," 
said  Sandor,  shortly. 

"Nor  of  the  castles  in  Spain  about  which 
you  told  me?" 

"Yes;  that  I  remember  very  well,  but  I 
never  told  you  about  the  woman." 

"But  how  should  I  know  otherwise?  You 
were  excited  that  day,  Sandor ;  remember,  your 
nerves  were  all  unstrung.  I  had  to  give  you 
a  cigarette  to  calm  them.  And  even  then  you 
left  me  twice;  suddenly,  unaccountably.  First 
on  the  Terrace,  and  then  in  the  vestibule,  with- 

89 


THE    DEVIL 

out  a  word.    I  looked  up.    You  were  gone.    But 
no  wonder.    I  forgive  you. 

"But,"  he  continued,  changing  his  abrupt 
utterance,  which  chopped  his  words  into  brief 
sentences,  to  the  soft  speech  of  the  well-bred 
man,  "won't  you  introduce  me?" 

"I — I  don't  know  your  name,"  stammered 
Sandor.  .  .  .  "Have  I  forgotten  that, 
too?" 

"No,  no.  Truth  to  tell,  I  desired  to  preserve 
my  incognito.  I  always  travel  incognito,  I 
have  to;  I  am  too  well  known  to  do  otherwise. 
Call  me  Dr.  Nicholas,  but  before  you  introduce 
me,  let  me  assure  you  that  my  social  standing 
is  unimpeachable :  I  have  the  entree  to  the  close- 
est  circles  in  the  world,  I  am  a  member  of  all  the 
respectable  clubs  of  Europe,  including  the 
Jockey  of  Budapest,  and  I  belong  to  one  of 
the  oldest  families.  By  birth  I  am  entitled 
to  be  received  at  Court  in  Vienna,  in  Ma- 
drid, in  London,  in  Berlin,  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. I  owe  you  this  egotistical  explanation, 
so  that  you  may  feel  safe  in  introducing 
me." 

90 


THE    DEVIL 

"Dr.  Nicholas,"  said  Sandor,  considerably 
impressed  by  his  benefactor's  credentials,  "Ma- 
dame Laszlo  Voross." 

Dr.  Nicholas  bowed  with  the  elaborate  defer- 
ence of  continental  Europe. 

"I  must  again  offer  you  my  apologies, 
Madame  Voross,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "and  beg 
that  you  will  accept  them.  I  am  most  horribly 
embarrassed.  To  surprise  the  secret  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  .  .  .  ' 

"But  there  is  no  secret.  I  came  here  to  have 
my  picture  painted." 

"Ah,  yes!  ah,  yes!  of  course.  I  forgot  that 
Sandor  is  a  portrait  painter.  I  only  remem- 
bered that  he  is  a  gay  young  bachelor." 

"This  is  infamous!" 

"I  acknowledge  it.  But  then,  I  plead  in  ex- 
tenuation the  strange  look  of  the  whole  affair. 
I  have  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  you  know, 
one  gets  cynical,  I  fear.  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y 
pense,  as  the  dear  Prince  used  to  say,  with  equal 
right  no  doubt,  before  the  cares  of  state  began 
to  weigh  heavily  upon  him.  You  may  count 
on  my  discretion." 

91 


THE    DEVIL 

Fear  began  to  struggle  with  indignation  in 
Jolan's  heart. 

"There  is  no  need  of  your  discretion,"  she 
said,  agitatedly ;  "it  is  all  open  and  above  board. 
There  is  no  secret  to  be  kept  from  anyone.  The 
truth  can  be  told  to  anyone  who  wants  to 
hear  it." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt.  But  what  avails  truth 
against  false  appearances?  You  know  how  it 
is.  Discretion  is  more  necessary  in  a  case  of 
false  appearances  than  where  the  plain  truth  is 
concerned.  You  will  agree  with  me  on  that?" 

Jolan  made  a  hopeless  gesture.  Sandor 
looked  puzzled. 

"Then  you  will  also  agree  that  my  promise 
of  discretion  cannot  offend  you.  I  promise  to 
be  silent  about  false  appearances,  which  have 
been  explained  to  me  at  considerable  length. 
I  can  swear  to  that,  if  it  ever  becomes  neces- 
sary." 

"Don't  you  understand,  Sandor?"  Jolan  broke 
out.  "Don't  you  see  what  is  in  his  mind? 
His  apology  is  more  insulting  than  his  sus- 
picion." 

92 


THE    DEVIL 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  suspected  this 
—this  lady  of—" 

Sandor  choked  with  rage.  The  insult  now 
was  clear  to  him.  It  was  too  much.  This  man 
assumed  .  .  .  He  could  not  put  the  abomina- 
ble thought  in  words.  With  all  his  voluble 
protestation,  it  was  clear  that  he  clung  to  his 
evil  thought. 

"You  shall  answer  to  me  for  this,"  muttered 
the  painter,  darkly. 

"But  that  would  only  make  the  wrong  ap- 
pearances worse.  Don't  you  see  that  we  are 
all  in  the  same  boat?  That  all  we  can  do  is  to 
agree  to  keep  silence?  Both  of  you  must  rely 
upon  my  discretion,  as,  I  assure  you,  you  can. 
Suppose  you  fight  me?  What  follows ?  My  name 
and  titles  cannot  be  hidden.  The  duel  will  be 
reported  the  world  dver.  People  begin  to  look 
for  the  cause  of  the  quarrel.  You  have  a  ser- 
vant. No  doubt  he  is  discreet,  but  all  servants 
talk  among  themselves  about  their  masters. 
That's  their  way  of  belonging  to  the  aristocracy. 
Madame  was  brought  here  by  her  husband  in 
a  brougham,  with  coachman  and  footman. 

93 


THE    DEVIL 

Monsieur  was  taken  away  by  them,  alone.  The 
servants  meet  .  .  .  they  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether .  .  .  the  footman  tells  it  to  his  sweet- 
heart, who  is  maid  in  another  house;  the  maid 
tells  the  story  to  her  lady  while  brushing  her 
hair — and  there  you  are.  There  are  people 
who  dare  not  look  at  a  horse,  least  of  all  when 
they  have  been  caught  leading  others  away 
many  a  time,  which  is  your  case,  Sandor. 
Madame,  we  know,  has  never  even  thought  of 
looking  at  the  horse.  So  there  you  are.  False 
appearances  had  better  be  ignored." 

Jolan,  who  had  been  listening  nervously,  sud- 
denly asked: 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  arrived  with  my 
husband  in  our  carriage?  Then  you  were  not 
asleep?" 

"I  assure  you,  I  was.  I  only  considered  it 
likely  that  Madame  Voross  would  not  come  on 
foot.  Now,  if  you  had  come  heavily  veiled, 
how  much  worse  the  case  would  be." 

"You  persist  in  suggesting  that  there  is 
something  wrong.  Sandor,  make  him  stop." 

"Pardon  me,  but  is  not  your  husband  the 
94 


THE    DEVIL 

proper  person  to  appeal  to?  If  this  is  anybody's 
business, — which  it  cannot  be  according  to  your 
own  explanation, — it  is  his." 

"Sir,"  said  Sandor,  with  great  dignity,  "you 
will  stop  talking  about  this  matter.  I  forbid 
you  to  doubt  this  lady's  word." 

"But  that  is  exactly  what  I  proposed  twenty 
minutes  ago.  So  we  will  say  no  more  about 
it.  I  accept  Madame's  explanation,  she  accepts 
my  apology.  Now  let  us  talk  of  something 
else." 

Jolan  had  been  looking  around  the  room,  her 
gaze  fixing  itself  ultimately  upon  the  Gothic 
chair.  An  uncanny  thought  struck  her. 

"Sandor,"  she  whispered,  awestruck,  "that 
man  was  not  in  that  chair  when  Laszlo  and  I 
arrived.  I  know,  because  I  looked  at  it  and 
admired  it." 

"Yes,  Dr.  Nicholas,  there  is  something  about 
this  that  has  a  very  queer  look.  It  is  your  turn 
to  explain  now,  and  perhaps  we  will  believe 
you.  Wrong  appearances,  you  know,"  he  added, 
sarcastically. 

The  Stranger  took  his  right  elbow  in  his 
95 


THE    DEVIL 

left  hand,  and  caressed  his  long  chin  with  the 
right — Sandor  suddenly  remembered  the  atti- 
tude— and  turned  towards  the  chair.  He  gazed 
at  it  long  and  earnestly. 

"Madame  is  sure  that  I  was  not  seated  in 
that  chair  when  she  arrived?" 

"I  am,"  said  Jolan,  positively. 

"Then,  of  course,  it  is  impossible  that  I 
should  be  here  now.  I  did  not  arrive  since 
she  came  in,  for  Sandor  locked  the  doors.  .  .  . 
If  I  am  not  here  now,  I  can  have  seen  nothing. 
So  now  it  is  all  explained  satisfactorily.  I  am 
really  glad  that  I  am  out  of  the  affair  entirely." 

He  continued,  in  a  conversational  tone: 

"You  have  had  Bonci  here  for  six  weeks,  I 
understand.  I  am  sorry  that  I  missed  him.  He 
is  a  glorious  artist.  His  'Ottavio'  is  a  flawless 
work  of  vocal  art." 

Jolan  and  Sandor  did  not  answer,  but  the 
Stranger  continued,  undismayed: 

"I  was  in  New  York  last  fall,  and  saw  St. 
Gaudens'  Sherman.  It  is  a  magnificent  work 
of  art,  but  I  agree  with  that  American  author 
who  lives  in  England — ah,  yes,  Henry  James 

96 


THE    DEVIL 

is  his  name — that  the  Victory  guiding  the 
hero  and  his  horse  spoils  the  statue.  With  her 
anxious  face  and  her  hand  uplifted  in  warning, 
she  looks  as  if  she  were  afraid  that  the  auto- 
mobiles might  run  into  him,  and  was  trying  to 
stop  them.  You  have  seen  pictures  of  it,  of 
course?" 

Jolan  and  Sandor  remained  standing,  in  the 
expectant  attitude  that  suggests  departure. 
But  the  Stranger  sat  down  with  great  self-pos- 
session, took  a  cigarette  from  the  table,  and 
looked  at  it  with  great  interest.  "Madame  per- 
mits, I  know,"  he  said. 

"Why,"  he  continued,  "this  is  my  favorite 
brand.  I  congratulate  you,  Sandor,  they  are 
very  hard  to  get.  I  always  carry  a  supply  with 
me,  and  I  am  almost  out  of  them.  I  must  wire 
for  a  fresh  supply.  Meanwhile  you  can  tell 
me  where  you  got  those.  They  are  most  sooth- 
ing to  nerves  and  brain.  I  suspect  that  there 
is  just  a  trace  of  opium  in  them,  but  what 
matter?  You  know  this  is  the  tobacco  that 
is  specially  raised  for  the  Sultan  and  the 
Khedive.  I  believe  that  the  Czar,  the  Emperor, 

97 


THE    DEVIL 

and  King  Edward  are  supplied  with  them,  as 
a  special  courtesy.  I  receive  them  in  the  same 
way.  Where  did  you  get  them?  Now  that  I 
think  of  it,  I  gave  you  one  or  two  of  them 
at  Monte  Carlo — you  remember?" 

Sandor  glanced  at  the  man.  He  was  holding  in 
his  long,  tapering  fingers  one  of  the  cigarettes 
that  the  tobacconist  had  sent  him  that  day — 
the  cigarettes  that  had  soothed  him  over  there 
on  the  lounge,  and  evoked  visions.  But  he 
kept  silence.  Jolan  made  an  impatient  move- 
ment. The  Stranger  smiled  to  himself,  a  mock- 
ing smile  which  gave  a  sardonic  upward  twist 
to  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He  lighted  the 
cigarette,  crossed  his  legs  comfortably,  and 
continued : 

"Now  you  both  want  me  to  go.  You  think 
that  the  tact  of  a  man  of  the  world,  the  tact 
that  does  not  look  beyond  the  present  moment, 
should  tell  me  so." 

Sandor  nodded  with  a  frankness  that  was 
insulting  in  its  decision. 

"Well,  now,  I  am  not  a  man  of  ordinary  tact 
— mine  is  extraordinary.  The  tact  that  in  inter- 

98 


THE    DEVIL 

national  affairs  is  called  diplomacy.  I  have  been 
in  the  diplomatic  service,  you  know.  I  have 
had  charge  of  some  very  important  negotia- 
tions. If  I  tell  you  this,  it  is  only  to  assure  you 
again  of  my  social  status  and  of  my  discre- 
tion." 

"Again  discretion,"  murmured  Jolan,  with 
helpless  fury.  There  was  something  devilish 
in  the  way  in  which  this  man  had  insulted  them 
both,  and  yet  had  succeeded  in  remaining  thera, 
forced  them  to  accept  his  company,  and  ended 
by  dominating  the  situation. 

"To  return  to  the  subject  of  tact,"  pursued 
the  Stranger,  "or,  rather,  to  what  tact  requires 
in  our  situation.  You  both  suggest,  with  a 
silence  that  is  far  more  eloquent  than  words, 
that  in  your  opinion  I  cannot  do  better  than 
take  my  leave." 

"Indeed,  your  presence  is  very  disagreeable 
to  me,"  said  Jolan  with  decision. 

"I  knew  it,  I  felt  it,"  avowed  the  Stranger, 
frankly;  "and  you  will  understand  me  when 
I  say  that  I  would  much  rather  take  my  hat  and 
go  than  prolong  this  embarrassing  situation. 

99 


THE    DEVIL 

But  let  us  look  a  little  further.  I  leave  here, 
as  you  wish  me  to  do.  Your  husband  arrives 
to  fetch  you  home.  'How  is  the  portrait  getting 
on?'  he  says.  'I  have  not  even  begun  it/  says 
Sandor.  Your  husband  is  astonished.  He  prob- 
ably has  tact  enough  to  say  nothing  before 
Sandor,  but  he  thinks  to  himself.  'Well,  then, 
what  have  they  been  doing  together  this  whole 
hour  and  more?'  You  feel,  of  course,  what  he 
is  thinking.  Guilt  does  not  make  us  nearly  so 
uneasy  as  false  appearances.  Monsieur  Vo- 
ross's  wonder,  uneasiness — I  will  not  call  it 
suspicion — gets  into  the  atmosphere  of  this 
bachelor's  home.  It  is  the  very  place  to  breed 
suspicions  in  a  husband's  heart.  So,  either 
Sandor  and  you  begin  to  make  voluble  explana- 
tions— of  the  truth,  of  course — or  you  keep  an 
embarrassed  silence,  and  in  either  case  you 
communicate  the  wrong  look  of  the  thing  that 
struck  me,  to  the  very  man  who  should  be  kept 
in  utter  ignorance,  for  Madame's  sake  and  his 
own.  With  or  without  explanation,  the  husband 
begins  to  wonder.  On  the  way  home,  in  the 
carriage,  he  preserves  a  gloomy  silence.  He  looks 
100 


THE    DEVIL 

at  his  wife  sideways ;  she  blushes  for  no  reason 
at  all — and  none  can  tell  how  far  things  will 
go.  Now  do  you  see  the  soundness  of  the  ap- 
parently tactless  tact  that  bids  me  stay  on, 
painfully  aware  though  you  make  me  feel  that 
I  am  unwelcome?  Nothing  has  been  done,  and 
here  is  Dr.  Nicholas.  We'll  say  nothing  of  the 
chair;  it  might  cause  new  complications.  If 
I  may  suggest  it,  Madame  had  better  put  on 
her  blouse  again.  Monsieur  Voross  might  be 
ahead  of  time.  And  don't  forget  to  put  on 
your  hat,  Madame.  Let  us  go  into  the  studio, 
Sandor." 

"I  will  go  there,"  said  Jolan,  hastily 'taking 
up  blouse  and  hat.  The  Stranger's  logic  had 
impressed  her;  she  was  anxious  now  to  fall  in 
with  his  plan.  Sandor  opened  the  door  for  her 
and  came  back  to  his  unwelcome  visitor,  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  lounge  at  the  table. 

"She  is  beautiful,"  said  that  worthy  from 
the  depths  of  the  Gothic  chair,  in  a  colorless 
voice  void  of  all  intention,  "and  she  has  tem- 
perament enough  to  make  a  man  happy.  What 
an  inspiration  she  would  be  to  a  man  of  genius." 
101 


THE    DEVIL 

"Monsieur  Voross  is  very  successful,  one  of 
our  greatest  merchants,"  answered  Sandor, 
formally.  "Pardon  me,  but  suppose  we  talk  of 
something  else?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  agreed  the  other, 
hastily,  "but  you  misunderstand  me.  I  was 
not  going  to  discuss  the  lady;  I  was  thinking 
of  you.  A  great  merchant !  What  need  has  he 
of  a  temperament  like  that?  It  is  thrown  away 
upon  him — a  wasted  life  that  might  find  its 
fulfilment  as  one  long  inspiration  to  an  artist." 

Jolan  re-entered  the  room,  her  cloak  over 'her 
arm,  her  hat  on  her  head,,  and  sat  down  at  a 
little  distance. 

"I  am  just  discussing  a  pet  theory  of  mine 
with  Sandor,"  said  the  Stranger,  who  had  risen 
with  the  painter,  and  now  sat  down  again. 

"You  know  how  moody  the  great  artist  is? 
You,  too,  have  your  moments  of  deep  dejection, 
have  you  not,  Sandor? — hours  when  you  doubt 
your  talent,  your  future — moments  when  you 
question  whether  it  is  all  worth  while.  You 
have  felt  in  your  depression  as  if  it  would  be 
best  to  end  it  all.  I  see  I  have  guessed  right. 
102 


THE    DEVIL 

Well,  now,  I  associate  much  with  artists,  with 
painters  and  poets — they  interest  me,  they  give 
me  a  welcome  change,  a  mental  stimulus  after 
hours,  nay,  weeks  of  intense  labor." 

Sandor  was  beginning  to  be  interested.  Did 
he  not  know  it,  this  utter  dejection,  this  har- 
rowing doubt  of  himself,  this  despair  of  re- 
action with  which  he  paid  for  success  and 
inspiration  ? 

"Now,"  continued  the  Stranger,  "I  have  a 
theory  that  accounts  for  this  swing  of  the 
pendulum  from  exaltation  to  despair.  You  see, 
the  genius  puts  months,  years,  of  his  vitality,  of 
the  mysterious  something  that  makes  him  what 
he  is,  into  a  few  weeks  of  intensest  work.  Some- 
times part  of  the  inspiration  comes  from 
without — he  may  have  an  interesting  subject; 
but  even  so  it  has  to  live  during  those  weeks 
upon  what  is  within  him.  He  draws  upon  his 
vitality,  upon  his  stock  of  genius  recklessly  in 
advance.  The  work  is  finished,  the  fire  sud- 
denly dies  out,  he  collapses.  He  needs  a  coun- 
ter influence  to  strengthen  him,  to  tide  him 
over  this  period  of  physical  and  temperamental 
103 


THE    DEVIL 

destitution.  If  that  counter  influence  be  strong 
enough,  the  reaction  may  even  be  entirely  elimi- 
nated. What  is  that  influence?  Now,  listen,  for 
this  is  my  theory.  Look  into  the  work  of  the 
world's  greatest  masters.  You  will  find  in 
nearly  every  case  that  with  their  masterpieces 
is  linked  the  name  of  the  Beloved  Woman.  Her 
name  may  be  unknown  to  the  world,  her  iden- 
tity an  unsolved  puzzle;  she  may  share  his 
glory  only  anonymously,  the  unthinking,  the 
common  mass  may  not  know  of  her  at  all.  But 
there  she  is.  What  was  the  inspiration  of 
Tristan  und  Isolde?'  The  One  Woman,  the 
woman  of  temperament,  who  understands,  who 
gives  of  herself  freely,  lovingly,  for  his  sake 
first  of  all,  but,  if  she  be  truly  his  mate,  for  the 
sake  of  his  art  as  well.  She  effaces  herself 
when  the  inspiration  seizes  him;  she  is  not 
jealous  of  that  rival  in  his  affections,  her  col- 
laborator in  the  building  of  the  temple  of  his 
greatness.  She  rests  while  he  aworks  and 
consumes  his  vitality  with  reckless  prodigality, 
counting  not  the  cost;  she  lays  up  a  store  of 
her  temperament  for  his  return  from  the  arms 
104 


THE    DEVIL 

of  that  other  mistress,  exhausted,  depressed, 
to  her  arms,  and  she  gives  of  it  from  her 
inexhaustible  riches  of  love,  that  he  may  re- 
cover the  quicker — may  escape  paying  the  cost 
altogether." 

The  Stranger  mounted  the  chair,  speaking 
over  its  back,  as  from  a  pulpit — Jolan  and  San- 
dor  on  either  side  of  him.  Suddenly  he  reached 
over,  joined  their  hands,  and  extended  his  own 
in  a  gesture  that  was  a  travesty  of  blessing. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "what  a  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful pair  you  would  make — thus,  you  two!" 

Jolan  turned  away,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
forehead. 

It  had  grown  very  dark  now  in  the  room, 
but  the  fire  flamed  up  again,  casting  its  dark 
reds  far  into  the  room,  crimsoning  the  Gothic 
chair  from  which  the  Stranger  had  descended. 
He  stood  in  its  deepest  shadow,  and  continued 
softly,  as  from  afar: 

"That  is  why  the  world  that  lives  by  the 
intellect  as  well  as  by  the  emotions,  the  world 
that  understands,  is  grateful  to  the  One  Woman 
through  the  ages  has  enriched  its  treasures 
105 


THE    DEVIL 

of  art  and  of  achievement.  She  serves  that 
world  through  the  man  of  whom  her  grandeur 
makes  her  the  worthy  mate." 

Jolan  was  now  seated  by  Sandor's  side.  She 
could  not  have  told  when  or  how  she  had  taken 
that  place.  Both  hung  in  eager  silence  upon 
the  voice  of  the  unseen  man,  reaching  them 
softly,  persuasively,  out  of  the  gloom. 

"The  genius  who  does  not  find  the  Woman, " 
it  continued  slowly,  the  words  dropping  one  by 
one  into  their  consciousness,  "will  burn  up  the 
tissue  of  his  gift  before  he  has  reached  the 
fulness  of  his  powers.  And  if  he  has  found 
her  and  she  withholds  herself  from  him  because 
she  places  her  name,  her  position,  fancied  duties 
and  obligations  above  the  mission  for  which 
she  was  sent  into  the  world,  she  is  his  mur- 
deress, even  though  she  return  his  love  in  the 
secret  chambers  of  her  heart." 

The  two  figures  on  the  lounge  had  drawn 
closer  together.  Their  hands  were  clasped,  but 
they  knew  it  not,  intent  as  they  were  on  the 
significance  of  the  words  out  of  the  dark  that 
had  awakened  the  echo  slumbering  within  them. 
106 


THE    DEVIL 

The  fire  flamed  up  again  and  cast  a  lurid 
light  upon  the  Stranger's  figure.  He  stood 
erect,  intensely  straining  towards  these  two. 
His  face  was  a  startling  contrast  of  high  pur- 
plish lights  and  darkest  shadows.  His  eyes 
burned  in  caverns  of  impenetrable  blackness, 
and  he  smiled  to  himself,  gleefully,  satanically. 
He  looked  the  incarnation  of  evil,  but  the  two 
saw  him  not,  preoccupied  with  the  revelation 
of  their  inmost  selves,  come  to  them  from  with- 
out. 

The  Stranger  once  more  mounted  on  the 
seat  of  the  chair  and  leaned  over  its  high 
back,  with  a  low  laugh  of  derision.  They 
heard  it  not.  Then  he  grew  intense  again  in 
attitude  and  look.  He  pitched  his  voice  lower 
still,  making  it  infinitely  more  convincing  and 
more  seductive.  It  affected  them  as  if  they 
themselves  were  saying  softly  aloud  the 
thoughts  that  were  welling  up  from  the  pro- 
fundities of  their  denied  passion. 

"Honor,  duty,  respectability,  what  are  they 
but  high-sounding  names  for  the  bonds  that 
keep  the  common  herd  from  breaking  loose 
107 


THE    DEVIL 

and  perishing  in  chaos  like  the  animals  of  the 
fields,  dragging  with  them  all  beauty,  all  intel- 
lect, the  work  of  the  small  minority  that  makes 
life  worth  the  living.  Shackles  put  upon  the 
mob  by  the  few  that  really  live  for  their  own 
preservation." 

The  voice  changed  again,  and  now  the 
speaker  rose  to  his  full  height.  He  put  all  his 
energy  into  his  speech,  his  arched  brows  drawn 
together  in  a  frown  of  commanding  purpose. 

"Have  you  missed  that  influence  in  your  life, 
Sandor  Tatray?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  not  know 
where  the  Woman  can  be  found  if  you  be  but 
strong  enough  to  take  her?  Are  you  content 
to  remain  the  talented  painter  of  women,  whose 
reputation  will  die  a  decade  after  his  death? 
Do  you  not  aspire  to  paint  your  masterpiece, 
to  write  your  name  on  the  scroll  of  the  Immor- 
tals? Is  your  genius  to  flicker  out  and  die 
because  you  dare  not  act  as  they  did,  because 
you  dare  not  demand  your  right,  which  cannot 
be  judged  by  the  moral  laws  of  weaklings,  dare 
not  take  what  is  your  own,  in  the  face  of  silly 
conventionalities?  Are  you  really  not  of  their 

108 


THE    DEVIL 

stature,  Sandor?  And  is  your  love  not  great 
enough  ? 

"You,  Jolan,  do  you  not  know  whose  is  the 
temperament  that  will  cause  his  genius  to  blos- 
som and  bear  its  fruit,  that  can  give  a  new  joy 
enduring  to  all  the  world?  Do  you  put  an  un- 
loved husband,  a  palace,  security,  the  respect  of 
your  circle  of  mediocrities,  above  the  great  mis- 
sion that  life  has  bestowed  upon  you  ?  You  have 
denied  your  love  its  due,  will  you  deny  it  to  his 
great  need?" 

Jolan  gave  a  sob.  Tears  were  rolling  softly 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  face  burned,  her  heart 
leaped  up  within  her  with  an  impulse  of  utter 
surrender,  in  which  there  was  no  trace  of  self, 
made  up  entirely  of  loving  service  to  the  man. 

"Sandor,"  she  whispered,  "Sandor!" 

They  turned  towards  each  other,  he  put  his 
arms  around  her,  gently,  reverently,  their  heads 
drew  close  together,  the  kiss  that  would  seal 
them  to  each  other  trembled  on  their  lips  .  .  . 

The  bell  rang.  With  a  start  they  drew  apart, 
brought  back  to  reality  from  afar,  from  visions 
ecstatic  beyond  words,  of  glad  surrender  and 
eager  taking. 

109 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  DEVIL'S  TACTICS 

JOLAN  and  Sandor  rose,  their  minds  return- 
ing but  slowly  to  the  reality  of  their  surround- 
ings from  the  heights  of  exaltation.  They  peered 
at  each  other  in  the  dark  like  two  who,  having 
long  sought  each  other,  have  at  last  met  and  rec- 
ognized the  ties  that  drew  them.  The  exaltation 
faded,  but  left  in  its  place  a  serenity,  like  a  pleasant 
awakening  after  a  refreshing  sleep.  Sandor  won- 
dered. Was  this  the  influence  which  he  had 
lacked  so  long,  the  salvation  from  his  fears,  the 
banishment  of  his  long  periods  of  listless  indif- 
ference? Had  she  already  brought  him  the 
strength  of  which  the  Stranger  had  spoken? 
The  One  Woman! 

She  stepped  dreamily  into  the  centre  of  the 
room,  a  vague  smile  on  her  lips,  her  eyes  staring 
vacantly  at  some  vision  of  perfect  happiness. 

The  bell  rang  again,  peremptorily. 
110 


THE    DEVIL 

"My  husband!"  Jolan  said,  awakening  with  a 
start.  "Oh!"  The  exclamation  escaped  her, 
significant  of  a  world  of  perplexity  and  fear. 

"Wake  up,  Sandor,"  said  the  Stranger,  briskly. 
"I  have  been  talking  too  much  in  this  dim,  warm 
room.  It  is  a  weakness  of  mine  when  I  get  upon 
that  subject.  Had  you  not  better  unlock  the 
door  so  that  your  servant  can  get  through  to 
admit  Monsieur  Voross?  And,  if  I  were  you,  I 
would  turn  on  the  light." 

Sandor  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Andre,  who  had 
evidently  been  waiting  behind  the  closed  door, 
anxious  to  do  his  duty,  gave  a  wondering  look  at 
the  trio,  stared  hard  at  the  visitor,  whom  he  cer- 
tainly had  not  admitted  and  had  never  seen 
before,  passed  out  in  the  hall,  and  a  moment  later 
ushered  in  Voross.  Jolan  and  Sandor  were  stand- 
ing now  by  the  fire,  facing  each  other.  The 
Stranger  had  discreetly  withdrawn  into  the  back- 
ground. 

"Well,  I  am  twenty  minutes  late,"  began  the 

husband,  briskly.    "Not  so  bad  for  a  busy  man, 

eh?    But  that  cable  never  came,  and  I  waited 

till  the  last  moment.    I  ordered  it  forwarded  to 

111 


THE    DEVIL 

the  house.  It  will  be  a  welcome  guest  if  it  comes 
to  our  ball  to-night.  One  of  the  biggest  things  I 
have  ever  pulled  off." 

He  let  Andre  help  him  off  with  his  fur-lined 
coat,  handed  him  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  came 
forward. 

"Bitter  cold,"  he  continued,  with  his  usual 
assurance  that  everything  he  said  was  of  the 
greatest  importance,  "and  snowing  hard.  I  hope 
it  will  not  keep  our  guests  from  coming."  His 
vanity  was  set  upon  the  success  of  the  affair, 
which  in  a  way  was  his  official  announcement  of 
his  desire  to  be  ranked  thereafter  among  the 
acknowledged  money  kings  of  the  world. 

"You  have  quite  a  color,  Jolan,"  he  went  on, 
with  the  irritating  assertion  of  approving  pro- 
prietorship that  is  a  characteristic  of  the  remarks 
addressed  in  public  by  so  many  elderly  husbands 
to  their  handsome  young  wives. 

Then  he  fondly  touched  her  cheek. 

Jolan  shrank  a  little  under  this  exhibition  of 

uxuriousness.    She  had  been  used  to  it  for  six 

years,  she  had  learned  to  take  it  with  an  air  of 

unconsciousness;  in  fact,  most  of  the  time  she  was 

112 


THE    DEVIL 

really  unconscious  of  it.  But  now!  She  gave 
a  hasty  glance  at  Sandor.  who  was  looking 
away. 

"And  now  the  portrait/'  continued  the  pom- 
pous voice.  "How  have  we  been  getting  along 
this  first  hour?  Quite  satisfactorily,  eh,  quite 
satisfactorily?  Of  course,  with  such  a  subject 
and  such  a  painter!"  He  gave  two  stately, 
patronizing  bows.  Quite  a  neatly  turned  com- 
pliment, he  thought. 

"The  fact  is,"  began  Sandor,  hesitatingly,  "that 
we  have  done  nothing  at  all." 

"Nothing  at  all?  But  then — what  have  you 
been  doing  for  an  hour  and  a  half?  " 

He  took  a  swift,  alert  look  at  the  painter,  then 
at  his  wife.  Both  read  in  that  look  more  than  it 
really  conveyed — a  dawning  suspicion. 

The  Stranger  here  sauntered  easily  forward 
from  behind  the  shelter  of  the  draped  easel  on 
which  he  had  been  admiring  a  spirited  sketch  of 
Fanny  in  Hungarian  peasant  costume.  He  was 
the  perfectly  mannered,  perfectly  dressed,  dis- 
tinguished Stranger  again. 

Sandor  welcomed  him  in  his  heart. 
113 


THE    DEVIL 

"Dr.  Nicholas,"  he  said,  swiftly.  "Monsieur 
Voross." 

The  two  bowed  ceremoniously,  the  Stranger 
with  his  usual  quiet  dignity,  a  little  haughtily, 
the  merchant  with  profound  respect.  He  knew 
the  stamp  of  the  grand  seigneur  so  well.  He  en- 
deavored so  hard  to  imitate  it. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
Monsieur  Voross,"  said  the  Stranger,  "but  it  is  only 
a  pleasure  anticipated  by  a  few  hours,  for  I  met 
Prince  Vasarhely  in  Paris,  the  other  day,  and  he 
gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  you.  You 
have  had  extensive  business  dealings  with  him, 
he  told  me.  Forests  in  the  Bukowina,  I  believe. " 
"Just  so,  just  so,  "assented  Voross,  much  gratified. 
"He  has  real  business  talent,  even  though  he  is 
an  army  man." 

"That  is  high  praise  from  you,  but  I  received 
the  same  impression.  His  wife,  it  seems,  doubts 
this  a  little.  She  and  I  are  very  old  friends." 

Voross  was  duly  impressed.     A  man  of  such 

distinction  calling  himself  Dr.  Nicholas?     Some 

great  noble  in  disguise,  no  doubt,  perhaps  a  prince 

of  royal  blood?    He  must  be  at  the  ball  to-night, 

114 


THE    DEVIL 

he  resolved  at  once.  He  must  tell  Jolan  to  invite 
him  before  they  left  the  studio.  He  glanced  at  her. 
She  was  seated  in  one  of  the  armchairs  near  the 
fire,  talking  desultorily  with  Sandor.  The  Stranger, 
too,  looked  in  their  direction.  Voross  caught  the 
look,  as  it  was  intended  that  he  should.  He  looked 
again,  conscious  of  an  unaccountable  feeling  of 
irritation. 

"Budapest  has  beautified  itself  since  I  was  here 
last,"  resumed  the  other,  having  waited  just  long 
enough  to  let  the  picture  of  his  wife  and  the  artist 
stamp  itself  upon  the  husband's  mind. 

"Yes,"  somewhat  absent-mindedly;  "we  are 
very  proud  of  our  little  capital  on  the  Donau. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  public  spirit  here." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  stay  long  enough 
to  inspect  all  your  improvements." 

"Your  visit  here  will  be  a  short  one?" 

"Yes,  I  leave  to-night  for  China.  I  am  going  to 
look  into  the  coal  deposits  there.  This  question  of 
fuel  is  beginning  to  be  a  serious  one  for  manufac- 
turers." 

"You  are  a  manufacturer?" 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly;  but  I  am  the  owner  of 
115 


THE    DEVIL 

an  enormous  plant,  and  the  coal  it  consumes  is 
really  ruinous.  I  have  tried  oil — but  you  know 
the  head  of  that  industry?  " 

"A  most  remarkable  man/'  said  Voross,  with 
reverence  for  the  possessor  of  so  much  money. 

"A  most  remarkable  man,"  assented  the 
Stranger.  "I  look  forward  with  much  pleasure 
to  making  his  acquaintance  by-and-by.  But 
his  oil  costs  me  more  than  the  coal." 

"I  have  tried  denatured  alcohol  in  my  factories 
with  rather  satisfactory  results." 

"I  tried  that,  too,  but  they  drank  it  faster 
than  I  could  buy  it." 

"Drank  it!"  exclaimed  Voross,  aghast.  Who? 
Your  firemen?  Did  it  not  kill  them?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Nothing  can  kill  them.  One 
of  them  told  me  that  it  was  the  best  stuff  he  had 
tasted  since  he  used  to  spend  his  summer  vacations 
in  Maine." 

Voross  was  a  little  puzzled.  So  he  changed  the 
conversation. 

"You  talk  Hungarian  without  any  accent,"  he 
observed,  "yet  you  are  not  one  of  us.    I  would 
know  you,  I  think,  if  you  were." 
116 


THE    DEVIL 

"  No,  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  being  a  country- 
man of  yours.  In  fact,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the 
world,  and  it  is  only  by  constant  moving  about 
that  I  succeed  in  preserving  my  incognito.  You 
know  my  name,  Monsieur  Voross,  yet  you  will  nev- 
er connect  it  with  my  person.  But  then,  I  never 
have  it  announced  in  the  Court  Circular  that  I  am 
going  to  such  and  such  a  place  incognito." 

"Ah,  ha! "  said  the  merchant  to  himself;  "he  has 
given  himself  away,  and  does  not  know  it.  I  was 
right — a  royal  prince  in  disguise.  He  shall  come 
to  the  ball,  and  I  will  let  them  know,  mysteriously, 
that  he  is  an  exalted  personage.  I  will  pretend, 
of  course,  that  I  know  who  he  is." 

The  other  watched  him  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  He  read  his  mind  as  clearly  as  if  he  had 
spoken  the  words  aloud. 

• '  You  see,  my  dear  Monsieur  Voross,  that  I  do  not 
mind  taking  you  into  my  confidence.  I  know  that 
I  am  safe,  even  though  you  would  be  much  aston- 
ished if  I  told  you  my  name.  If  somebody  else  told 
you,  the  chances  are  that  you  would  not  believe 
him.  We  were  bound  to  meet,  you  and  I.  The 
world  of  business,  as  you  transact  it,  and  mine, 
117 


THE    DEVIL 

which  has  for  ages  looked  down  upon  it,  are  drawn 
so  close  together  nowadays." 

"I  catch  your  idea,  Monseigneur,"  said  the 
flattered  merchant.  "The  Czar  is  interested  in 
timber  lands,  the  Emperor  distills  denatured 
alcohol,  King  Leopold  sells  rubber  and  mahogany, 
King  Edward  is  interested  in  the  stock  markets, 
and  you — " 

"A  half  word  goes  a  long  way  with  you,  Mon- 
sieur Voross,"  smiled  the  Stranger.  "I  am  a 
little  interested  in  all  these  things,  and  in  many 
others,  and  the  result  is  that  I  use  more  coal  each 
year." 

Jolan  and  Sandor  had  endeavored  hard  during 
this  conversation  to  assume  an  unconcerned 
demeanor,  and  to  talk  naturally  on  indifferent 
topics.  Both  felt  uneasy,  guilty;  the  woman  re- 
morseful. But  fear  was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 
This  uncanny  man,  come  she  knew  not  whence 
nor  how,  had  her  good  name,  her  future  tran 
quillity,  in  his  keeping.  One  unguarded  word,  one 
allusion  made  with  malicious  intent,  would  suffice 
to  rouse  in  her  husband  the  demon  of  jealousy, 
whose  existence,  well  guarded,  she  had  long 
118 


THE    DEVIL 

known.  She  lent  but  half  an  ear  to  Sandor's 
labored  commonplaces,  avoiding  his  eyes  that 
spoke  of  other  things,  straining  hard  to  overhear 
what  these  other  two  were  saying.  The  Stranger 
was  exerting  his  charm,  and  succeeding,  she  could 
see.  But  for  what  purpose?  Sandor,  following 
her  glances,  asked  himself  the  same  question.  A 
sudden  thought  darted  through  his  mind.  The 
man  was  young,  handsome  in  a  striking  fashion, 
of  a  charming  distinction  of  manner,  evidently 
well  born,  and  rich.  Why  was  he  exerting  him- 
self so  much  to  please  that  pompous,  middle-aged 
moneybag?  Did  he  plan  to  reach  the  wife  through 
the  husband?  The  suspicion  grew  almost  im- 
mediately into  a  certainty.  So  that  was  it?  A 
raging  jealousy  awoke  in  him  who  had  never 
given  a  thought  to  the  husband. 

The  Stranger  and  Voross  now  approached 
the  two  at  the  fire,  still  chatting  animat- 
edly. 

"Fancy,  Jolan,"  said  Laszlo,  with  exaggerated 

interest,  "Dr.  Nicholas  is  a  friend  of  the  Vasar- 

helys.     They  have  been  telling  him  about  our 

new  house  and  the  house-warming  to-night.    He 

119 


THE    DEVIL 

knows  all  about  it."  He  glanced  at  her  signifi- 
cantly. 

Unwillingly,  a  premonition  warning  her,  Jolan 
felt  compelled  to  extend  the  invitation  unmistak- 
ably suggested  to  her. 

"Perhaps  Dr.  Nicholas  will  give  us  the  pleasure 
of  coming  to-night,  if  he  has  nothing  better  to 
do." 

"Yes,  we  shall  be  delighted." 

"I  accept  with  much  pleasure,  indeed.  Truth 
to  tell,  I  am  anxious  to  see  this  new  house  of  which 
I  have  heard  so  much.  I  understand  it  is  one  of 
the  ornaments  of  Budapest."' 

"Not — not  bad,"  murmured  Voross,  with  an 
insufferable  assumption  of  modesty,  And,  in 
the  exuberance  of  his  joy  at  having  secured  so 
distinguished  a  guest,  he  added  with  jocular 
mysteriousness: 

"Since  Sandor  is  such  an  old  friend  of  Dr. 
Nicholas,  I  may  perhaps  commit  the  indiscretion 
of  telling  him  that  he  is  expected  to  make  a  most 
interesting  announcement  in  the  course  of  the 
evening." 

"0,  ho!  Sandor,  you  sly  boy,  and  you  never  said 
120 


THE    DEVIL 

a  word.  I  understand,  you  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried !  Happy  you !  Now  your  talent  will  produce 
its  best.  The  One  Woman,  eh?  The  only  true 
inspiration  for  an  artist." 

Jolan  started  inwardly. 

"Yes,"  continued  her  husband  (oh,  how  could 
he  be  so  garrulous,  how  could  he  give  such  an 
exhibition  of  bad  taste) — "Yes,  we  flatter  our- 
selves that  this  is  a  little  our  work,  or  rather  my 
wife's." 

Jolan  felt  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  a  dull  despair. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  had  done  this  thing,  that 
she  had  worked  assiduously  for  many  weeks  to 
bestow  this,  her  greatest  treasure,  upon  another? 
Yes,  it  was  her  own  deed.  The  gnawing  pain 
grew  into  jealousy,  almost  hatred. 

The  Stranger  was  watching  her  closely. 

"Perhaps,"  he  suggested  gently,  "I  have  seen 
this  lady's  portrait  just  now?  " 

"You  mean  the  one  on  the  easel?"  asked 
Voross,  with  elephantine  humor.  "No,  no;  you 
are  on  delicate  ground  now.  That  is  Fanny,  the 
famous  Fanny,  Tatray's  model.  But  that  is  all 
over  and  done  with  now.  What!" 
121 


THE    DEVIL 

He  laughed  the  fat  laugh  of  the  man  who  wishes 
to  insinuate  that  he,  too,  has  been  a  gay  dog  in 
his  day. 

Jolan  did  not  heed  him.  She  had  reached  a 
crisis.  She  could  endure  no  more.  This  Stran- 
ger, with  his  easy  perfection  of  manner,  stumbled, 
in  his  ignorance,  upon  every  fact  that  hurt  her. 
First  Sandor's  marriage,  now  the  model!  The 
jealousy  gnawing  at  her  heart  bit  deep.  She 
shuddered,  then  got  up. 

"It  is  time  for  us  to  go,"  she  said. 

But  Voross  had  strolled  over  to  Fanny's  picture, 
and  Sandor  had  followed  him.  They  were  stand- 
ing before  it  now,  discussing  some  detail  of  cos- 
tume. Jolan  took  a  sudden  resolution. 

"I  must  speak  to  you  a  moment  alone,"  she 
said  to  Dr.  Nicholas.  "Here,  now,  before  we 
leave." 

"I  will  arrange  it,  Madame.  I  am  always  at 
your  service.  Leave  it  to  me." 

"Sandor,"  he  said,  raising  his  voice,  "you  have 
not  shown  Monsieur  Voross  the  charcoal  sketch 
for  the  portrait.  Madame  just  spoke  of  it." 

"Then  you  did  work  a  little?  Just  now  you 
122 


THE    DEVIL 

said  that  you  had  done  nothing  at  all."  The 
merchant  looked  dissatisfied. 

"Oh,  well,  I  am  not  content  with  it,"  rejoined 
the  painter,  negligently.  "  It  is  not  worth  looking 
at.  I  am  not  going  to  use  it." 

"Never  mind,  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"Go  into  the  studio  with  them,"  said  Dr. 
Nicholas  under  his  breath  to  Jolan,  "then  make 
some  pretext — say  that  it  is  cold  in  there — and 
rejoin  me." 

She  obeyed  him  unquestioningly,  wondering  a 
little  the  while.  Walking  to  the  door,  she  passed 
through  it  as  Sandor  held  it  open  for  her,  followed 
by  her  husband.  The  door  was  shut  again.  Dr. 
Nicholas  was  alone. 

He  rubbed  his  hands,  then  he  smiled,  finally  he 
laughed  silently.  He  strolled  to  the  table,  took 
another  cigarette,  and  murmured  gleefully: 

"The  situation  is  developing.  We  certainly 
have  progressed  far  this  afternoon.  Everybody 
is  jealous  of  everybody  else,  and  they  all  dance  to 
my  pulling  of  the  strings.  Oh,  it  is  an  old  game, 
but  these  poor  mortals  never  seem  to  learn  wis- 
dom. The  woman  is  suffering  from  a  reaction. 
123 


THE    DEVIL 

I  had  foreseen  that.  We  had  better  have  Fanny 
on  the  scene.  That  will  be  another  turn  of  the 
screw." 

He  turned  expectantly  towards  the  door  lead- 
ing into  the  hall.  A  moment,  and  then — a 
knock. 

"Come  in." 

Fanny,  looking  contrite  and  humble,  entered 
timidly. 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  see  Monsieur  Tatray." 

"Is  it  very  important?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir."  The  poor  girl  wiped  her  eyes 
with  a  handkerchief,  twisted  nervously  into  a 
tight  little  ball. 

"Well,  Monsieur  Tatray  is  busy — very  im- 
portant. You  cannot  see  him  now.  Go  in 
there."  He  began  to  lead  her  gently  towards 
the  door  of  the  bedroom.  "I  shall  attend  to  it 
for  you." 

He  turned  the  key  behind  her,  and  came  back 
to  the  centre  of  the  room.  "We  will  keep  Fanny 
in  reserve,"  he  murmured. 

Jolan  came  in  hastily. 
124 


THE    DEVIL 

"Sir,"  she  said,  firmly,  "I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  revoke  your  acceptance  of  my  invitation. 
I  gave  it  under  pressure.  You  surely  will  not 
come  when  I  tell  you  frankly  that  you  are  not 
wanted.  I  do  not  know  who  you  are,  or  where 
you  come  from.  You  were  there,  suddenly — oh, 
no;  you  were  not  in  that  chair  when  I  arrived. 
You  had  hidden  yourself. 

"Leave  me  alone,  I  beg  of  you;  do  not  unsettle 
me  with  your  theories.  I  have  been  loyal  to  my 
husband  in  word  and  deed  for  six  years.  I  have 
nothing  to  reproach  myself  with.  I  do  not  love 
him,  you  know  that — you  who  look  people 
through  and  through.  Why  should  I  deny  it? 
But  I  respect  him,  and  still  more,  I  respect  my- 
self. Honor,  fidelity,  respectability  may  be  idle 
words  to  you;  to  me  they  mean  everything.  Just 
now  I  was  carried  away  by  your  false  logic — I 
cannot  explain  it,  I  cannot  understand  it.  But 
I  have  regained  command  of  myself.  I  will  do 
my  duty  as  I  see  it  to  the  end." 

"Madame,  so  much  has  happened  this  after- 
noon, that  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  upset.  You 
do  not  want  me  to  come  to  your  ball  because  you 
125 


THE    DEVIL 

are  afraid  that  I  might  be  indiscreet.  You  may 
rely  upon  me.  Your  secret  and  Sander's,  which 
I  surprised,  and  you  no  longer  deny — why  should 
you? — will  never  pass  my  lips." 

Jolan  stared  at  him  with  renewed  fear.  The 
man's  reasoning  was  now  unanswerable.  If  he 
chose  to  relate — what  could  she  do?  False  ap- 
pearances, he  had  said.  Well,  they  were  against 
her.  She  must  rely  upon  his  honor.  She  took 
a  rapid  resolution. 

"Listen,"  she  said;  "you  say  that  you  leave  to- 
morrow, perhaps  never  to  return.  What  are  we 
to  you?  You  will  not  come?  " 

"I  will  not  come,  Madame,  as  you  desire,  un- 
less— well,  unless  you  invite  me  again  in  the 
presence  of  your  husband.  Is  that  a  bar- 
gain?" 

"You  will  certainly  not  come,"  she  smiled, 
gaily.  "Pardon  my  rudeness." 

"A  charming  woman  is  never  rude,  Madame 
Voross.  Rudeness  in  her  we  call  caprice." 

"Now  you  are  nice  again.  Let  us  shake  hands, 
and  bear  no  malice." 

Dr.  Nicholas  took  her  hand,  and,  as  Sandor  was 
126 


THE    DEVIL 

entering  the  room,  kissed  it,  looking  at  the 
painter  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  Voross 
followed  immediately  afterward. 

"Well,  how  about  the  sketch?"  said  Dr. 
Nicholas,  pleasantly. 

"Sandor  does  not  like  it,  so  that  settles  it. 
Come,  Jolan,  we  must  go  home.  Till  to-night, 
then,  Dr.  Nicholas." 

"Dr.  Nicholas  has  just  told  me  that  he  cannot 
possibly  come.  He  has  important  matters  to 
attend  to." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,  can  you  not  look  in  for  a 
moment?  " 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible.  I  have  thanked 
Madame  and  made  my  excuses.  I  lose  a  pleasant 
evening,  more's  the  pity." 

"Well,  we  regret  this  exceedingly.  Come, 
Jolan,  I  am  anxious  about  that  cable." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  with  sudden 
interest,  "but  does  it  refer  to  that  transaction  in 
arms  and  blankets  for  the  Russian  army?  " 

"How  do  you  know?    It  is  a  deep  secret." 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Voross,  I  am  in  a  situation 
where  I  know  everything  that  is  going  on.  Take 
127 


THE    DEVIL 

my  advice,  do  not  close  that  deal.  You  can  do 
better." 

"But  how  do  you  know?" 

"Ah,  that  is  a  long  story.  The  situation  in  the 
Far  East  will  change  shortly  very  much.  I  have 
not  all  the  facts  yet;  I  shall  not  have  them  until 
later  in  the  evening.  Sorry  that  I  shall  have  no 
opportunity  to  explain  things  to  you  at  length, 
for,  of  course,  you  cannot  be  expected  to  take  my 
unsupported  word  for  it." 

"But  this  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  me, 
sir."  Voross's  voice  trembled  with  excitement. 
"Can  I  not  see  you  for  a  moment — can  you  not 
drop  in  for  an  hour  later  in  the  evening?  Jolan, 
do  beg  Dr.  Nicholas  to  come  to-night.  There  is 
more  at  stake  than  your  sable  cloak." 

Obediently,  against  her  will,  frightened  by  this 
unmistakably  adroit  management,  Jolan  mur- 
mured: 

"Do  come,  Dr.  Nicholas,  if  only  for  a  moment. 
Can  we  count  on  you?  " 

"Madame,  I  am  your  servant.  Yes,  I  will 
manage  it.  You  may  count  on  me." 

"And  now  home,"  said  Voross,  joyously.  "Be 
128 


THE    DEVIL 

sure  that  you  come  early,  Sandor,"  he  added. 

"I  shall  probably  be  a  little  late.  I  expect  an 
intimate  friend  who  will  keep  me  for  some  time." 

Jolan  stepped  forward  and  took  the  painter's 
hand  as  Dr.  Nicholas  and  her  husband  walked 
towards  the  entrance. 

"Good-bye,  Sandor,"  she  said,  softly,  "and 
farewell.  We  shall  never  meet  again  alone.  I 
am  sorry,  and  yet  I  am  glad  that  this  has  hap- 
pened, but  you  see  that  it  is  impossible  for  you 
to  paint  my  picture.  It  won't  do,  my  friend,  it 
won't  do.  My  friend!  Ah,  yes;  you  will  always 
be  that,  won't  you?  Marry  Vilma,  Sandor,  and 
protect  me  against  myself,  against  ourselves.  I 
will  remain  an  honest,  an  honorable  woman." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  loud  knock  at  the 
door  of  the  bedroom.  Sandor  looked  puzzled. 

"The  friend  you  expect,  no  doubt,"  said  Dr. 
Nicholas,  going  toward  it.  "Shall  I  open  it, 
Sandor?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  turned  the 
key,  admitting  Fanny. 

"You  wish  to  see  me,  Mademoiselle?"  Sandor 
looked  disconcerted.  "Please  be  seated,"  he 
129 


THE    DEVIL 

added  gruffly.  Fanny  sniffed,  and  applied  the 
ball  of  filmy  linen  to  her  eyes. 

Dr.  Nicholas  smiled  discreetly;  Voross  winked. 
His  wife  saw  both  wink  and  smile. 

"That  is  the  famous  Fanny,"  he  told  her,  sotto 
voce,  for  her  edification.  Jolan,  a  high  color  on 
her  cheeks,  did  not  answer,  but  turned  towards 
the  chair  on  which  were  lying  her  cloak  and  gloves. 

"Had  we  not  better  go?"  suggested  the  Doctor, 
discreetly. 

Andr6  came  in,  and  began  to  help  Voross  into 
his  overcoat.  Dr.  Nicholas  held  Jolan's  cloak  for 
her. 

"I  will  return  in  a  moment,"  he  whispered  over 
her  shoulder,  "and  put  an  end  to  this  tete-a-tete." 

"What  is  it  to  me?"  she  answered,  scornfully; 
but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips 
trembled. 

"  It  is  improper."  She  caught  the  gleeful  smile 
over  her  shoulder  in  the  Venetian  glass.  "It  is 
improper.  I  have  strong  convictions  in  such 
matters.  Think  of  his  engagement  to-night,  and 
then — after  what  has  happened  this  afternoon!" 

Jolan  walked  briskly  towards  the  entrance, 
130 


THE    DEVIL 

looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  joined 
her  husband.  Sandor  was  standing  by  the  table, 
ill  at  ease,  undecided  what  to  do.  His  departing 
guests  took  no  further  notice  of  him. 

"Here,  Andre",  my  coat,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas, 
briskly  thrusting  a  garment  into  the  servant's 
hands,  and  slipping  into  it.  "Now  my  hat  and 
my  gloves.  So,  take  care  of  my  bag,  will  you? 
You  hadn't  seen  it  before?  Well,  there  it  is,  and 
it  is  heavy  enough  to  be  felt  as  well  as  seen." 

"Monsieur  is  to  pass  the  night  here?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  the  ball  with  your  master. 
See  to  my  dress  clothes  and  things,  yes?  There's 
a  good  man." 

Dr.  Nicholas  slapped  his  hat  on  his  head  and  hur- 
ried after  Monsieur  and  MadameVoross,  overtaking 
them  as  they  were  about  to  enter  their  carriage. 

"To-night  then,  Doctor,"  said  its  owner. 

"To-night,  with  pleasure."  And  looking  into 
the  carriage,  he  added  the  customary  Hungarian 
phrase,  "I  kiss  your  hand,  gracious  lady." 

As  the  footman  closed  the  carriage  door,  he 
cried  gaily: 

"I  have  to  go  back.    This  is  not  my  coat." 
Jolan  saw  him  standing  on  the  sidewalk,  a  smile 
on  his  face,  as  they  drove  off. 
131 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DEVIL'S  PAEABLE 

THE  moment  the  door  closed  behind  his 
fleeing  guests,  Sandor  turned  angrily  to  Fanny. 

"Why  did  you  come  back?"  he  asked,  sternly. 
"Have  I  not  told  you  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
when  I  had  callers?" 

"I  thought  that  you  wanted  me,  Sandor," 
she  faltered.  "I  was  sitting  in  the  cafe,  wait- 
ing to  see  if  you  would  come  in,  and  then 
I  felt  as  if  you  were  calling  me,  as  if  I  were 
needed.  I  ran  all  the  way,  Sandor ;  I  could  hear 
your  voice." 

"Nonsense.  Nerves,  or — are  you  making 
this  up?" 

"No,  no,  Sandor!    It's  the  truth." 

"How  did  you  get  in?" 

"The  outside  door  wasn't  locked.  I  was  in 
such  a  hurry  that  I  tried  it  before  I  rang." 

"The  door  was  open!    Again!" 
132 


THE    DEVIL 

"And  then  that  strange  gentleman  let  me  in 
here.  I  knocked,  Sandor ;  honestly,  I  knocked." 

"He  let  you  in?    And  then?" 

"He  pushed  me  into  your  bedroom  and  told 
me  to  wait.  Then  I  thought  you  called  me  and 
I  tried  to  come  in,  but  the  door  was  locked.  So 
I  knocked." 

"And  Dr.  Nicholas  let  you  in." 

Sandor  had  repeated  her  words  mechanically, 
a  look  of  enlightenment  on  his  face. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "you  have  placed  me 
in  a  nice  situation.  What  did  you  come  back 
for,  anyhow?" 

"Won't  you  forgive  me,  Sandor,  for  what  I 
said  this  afternoon?  Do,  please,  forgive  me. 
I'll  be  good.  I  promise  never  to  be  jealous 
again." 

"That's  all  right,  Fanny.  Don't  cry  any  more 
now." 

"Are  you  really  going  to  get  married  to  that 
rich  young  lady?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that  other — the  one  you  really  love, 
the  married  one  ..." 
133 


THE    DEVIL 

"Fanny!  Stop  it!  How  dare  you  begin 
again !  Here,  I'll  give  you  a  glass  of  Tokay  .  .  . 
Or  have  you  already  had  just  a  little  bit  more 
than  is  good  for  you  .  .  .No?  Then  it's 
nerves?  All  right,  we  will  set  that  in  order. 
Now  make  yourself  comfortable.  Let  me  help 
you  off  with  your  jacket." 

Fanny  obediently  held  out  her  arm,  and,  as 
she  slipped  out  of  the  sleeve,  fondly  pressed 
herself  against  his  breast,  putting  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  drawing  his  head  down  to 
her  lips. 

Dr.  Nicholas  came  in  at  this  moment. 

"Really,  Sandor,"  he  said,  mockingly,  "you 
shock  me.  Every  time  I  come  in  I  find  you  busy 
helping  ladies  to  change  from  dresses  to  draper- 
ies. It's  all  right,  but  you  should  at  least  see 
to  it  that  your  locks  are  in  order.  It  is  crimi- 
nal in  a  bachelor  to  neglect  this  greatest  of  all 
precautions.  Why,  you  would  end  by  compro- 
mising someone.  Your  servant  gave  me  the 
wrong  coat  a  moment  ago.  I  return  for  my 
own,  try  your  door,  it  opens — just  like  that.  I 
enter  here,  and  find  you  engaged  in  what 
134 


THE    DEVIL 

appears  to  be  the  chief  occupation  of  your  life. 
Suppose  I  had  been  this  lady's  husband?" 

"I  have  no  husband,  sir,"  said  Fanny,  indig- 
nantly. 

"Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,  for  this  apparent 
reflection  upon  your  virtue.  You  are  not  mar- 
ried, Sandor  is  not  married;  Mrs.  Grundy  her- 
self could  not  have  a  word  to  say." 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Grundy?"  asked  Fanny. 

"She  is  a  lady  with  no  brains,  a  malicious 
tongue,  and  a  prurient  imagination,  Madem- 
oiselle Fanny.  She  has  relatives  in  America,  I 
believe." 

Andre  entered. 

"The  house  agent  about  the  lease  again,  sir. 
He  says  he  must  know  before  twelve  o'clock 
to-night." 

"Tell  him  I  cannot  see  him.  I  don't  know 
yet  ...  I  haven't  decided  ..." 

"You  are  going  to  get  married?"  burst  out 
Fanny,  "Oh,  oh!" 

"I  will  see  him,"  said  Sandor.  irritably.    "Dr. 
Nicholas,  you  are  a  physician?    Well,  anyhow, 
see  if  you  cannot  help  her." 
135 


THE    DEVIL 

"You  had  better  stay  away  for  a  little  while, 
then.  I  am  afraid  that  you  have  upset  her.  And 
oh,  send  in  some  tea,  and  don't  forget  the  rum." 

"Now  then,  Mademoiselle  Fanny,  let  us  sit 
down,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  in  his  softest  manner, 
when  Sandor  had  gone,  "and  let  us  talk  a 
little.  You  love  Sandor,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  love  him  very,  very  dearly." 

"You  only  think  you  love  him.  You  have 
loved  before,  have  you  not?" 

"But  never,  never  like  this." 

"Of  course  not,  and  you  have  never  lost  like 
this  before?" 

"I  shall  never  get  over  it." 

"You  will,  dear  child,  you  will.  I  will  help 
you.  An  inconsolable  Fanny  would  be  of  no 
earthly  use  to  me." 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"I  wish  you  to  be  gay  and  happy,  to  forget 
Sandor,  to  fall  in  love  with  that  young  stu- 
dent ..." 

"He  is  nice,"  admitted  the  model,  with  con- 
siderable animation,   "but,"   dolefully,   "he  is 
not  Sandor,  famous  and  great." 
136 


THE    DEVIL 

"He  will  be  great  some  day,  Fanny,  and  the 
first  book  of  poems  that  will  bring  him  fame 
will  be  all  about  you.  You  remember  it  was 
your  portrait  that  brought  Sandor  good  for- 
tune?" 

"Yes,  it  was  printed  all  over  the  world.  It 
is  in  the  picture  shops  now,  in  beautiful  colors, 
for  20  guldens."  Fanny's  eyes  shone  with 
happiness.  Then  her  eyes  clouded  again. 

"And  now  he  is  going  to  send  me  away,"  she 
concluded,  tearfully. 

"Poor  little  thing,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  softly 
to  himself,  "with  your  intense  joys  and  your 
shallow  griefs — all  emotion,  all  impulse,  a  sin- 
ner who  harms  no  one  but  herself.  And  yet 
people  believe  that  I  seek  to  destroy  you.  How 
little  they  know  me!  What  should  I  do  with 
you?  What  honor  would  there  be,  what  satis- 
faction, in  a  conquest  so  easy,  so  insignificant? 
Mine  is  the  realm  of  the  pride  of  intellect,  of 
the  arrogance  of  ruthless  achievement,  of  the 
master-spirits  of  this  earth.  Where  should  I 
place  you  ?  With  Messalina  and  Faustina  ?  Go 
your  little  way,  bring  some  sunshine  into  the 
137 


THE    DEVIL 

lives  of  budding  artists.     You  need  fear  no 
harm  from  me." 

"You  are  talking  in  a  strange  tongue,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Fanny,  interested  again. 

"Here's  our  tea.  Now,  one  lump,  two  lumps 
for  you?  Right,  and  a  little  rum.  No  lemon? 
Very  well.  Now  a  sandwich.  And  lemon  for 
me  and  sugar,  and  rum,  and  a  bit  of  caviar. 
Now  we  are  comfy." 

Fanny  fell  to  eating  ravenously,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  to  wipe  her  eyes,  an  opera- 
tion which  soon  became  unnecessary.  The  rum 
revived  her  spirits  and  ere  long  she  was  telling 
this  sympathetic,  entertaining  stranger  all  the 
successive  events  of  her  life — naively,  with  per- 
fect confidence  in  his  comprehension. 

"And  now  the  end  has  come,"  she  concluded, 
dolefully.  "Sandor  loves  me  no  longer." 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  secret,  Fanny.  I  have 
already  told  you  that  your  student  will  be 
famous.  Now,  listen.  You  are  going  to  like 
him  very  much,  so  much  that  you  will  not 
care  whether  Sandor  marries  or  not." 

"It  is  impossible." 

138 


THE    DEVIL 

"But  it  is  true.  Now,  go  and  sleep  well  and 
don't  cry,  for  it  spoils  your  lovely  eyes." 

Obediently,  Fanny  allowed  him  to  help  her 
with  her  jacket.  Then,  at  the  door,  she  turned 
and  said: 

"Good-bye,  Monsieur,  and  thank  you.  You 
have  made  me  feel  much  better." 

Dr.  Nicholas  sat  down  again,  lighted  a  cigar- 
ette and  made  himself  a  cup  of  fresh  tea. 
Sandor  returned. 

"Have  you  got  rid  of  her?"  he  asked,  in 
astonishment. 

"Yes;  she  has  gone  home." 

"That  is  something  to  worry  about,  too.  She 
is  so  impulsive  and  she  loves  me  so  much,  I 
really  dread  to  think  of  what  she  may  do  when 
she  sees  that  all  is  really  over.  She  may  throw 
herself  into  the  Donau." 

"My  dear  Sandor,  what  an  inexperienced  boy 
you  are  and  what  a  timid  sinner !  Fanny  throw 
herself  into  the  Donau?  Why,  she  will  console 
herself  for  your  loss  within  a  month." 

"You  don't  know  her." 

"I  know  all  her  kind." 
139 


THE    DEVIL 

"But  she  loves  me  to  distraction." 

"That's  the  only  way  in  which  she  can  love 
while  it  lasts.  She  has  loved  to  distraction 
before,  she  will  love  to  distraction  again.  She 
will  be  teaching  young  men  their  A  B  C's  of 
love  when  she  is  forty-five.  Really,  Sandor, 
you  are  too  ingenuous.  But,  of  course,  she  will 
come  back  several  times  before  she  forgets 
you." 

"Let  us  sit  by  the  fire,"  said  Sandor,  briefly. 
The  two  rose  and  went  over  to  the  fireplace, 
Sandor  picking  up  the  package  of  cigarettes 
and  switching  off  the  lights. 

"So!  this  is  cosy,"  he  said. 

He  placed  a  low  smoking-table  between 
them,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  closely 
scrutinized  the  face  of  the  strange  guest,  who, 
in  some  unaccountable  manner,  had  in  a  few 
hours  wrested  from  him  the  great  secret  of 
his  life,  who  appeared  to  know  all  his  past,  and 
Jolan's  and  Voross's. 

Whence  did  he  come?  Who  was  he?  With 
all  his  frankness  and  the  volubility  of  his  ex- 
planations, he  remained  the  enigma  he  had  been 

140 


THE    DEVIL 

on  the  terrace  at  Monte  Carlo.  Well,  here  he 
was,  the  visitor  of  a  night,  entitled  to  hospital- 
ity. On  the  morrow  he  would  disappear,  mys- 
teriously as  he  had  come,  perhaps  never  to 
return  again.  Why  not  make  the  best  of  him? 

"Of  course  you  will  dine  with  me  and  stay 
overnight?" 

"With  pleasure,  Sandor.  The  fact  is,  I 
counted  on  you.  But  after  dinner  I  shall  have 
to  leave  you  for  a  while  and  go  on  direct  to 
the  ball.  Nor  do  I  know  when  I  shall  return 
to-morrow  morning.  More  mystery,  you  see. 
I  wish  that  I  could  tell  you  more,  but  let  it 
suffice  that  Budapest  is  midway  between 
Vienna  and  Constantinople." 

Andre  entered  the  room  and  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  his  master. 

"Dr.  Nicholas  will  dine  here,  Andre." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

While  they  were  waiting  for  dinner,  the  host 
and  his  guest  sat  silent.  The  Devil  was  resting, 
content  to  let  what  had  already  been  done  sink 
deep  into  the  emotional  nature  of  the  artist. 
He  knew  what  Sandor  was  thinking  about,  the 
141 


THE    DEVIL 

struggle  between  his  higher  and  his  lower  self 
that  was  going  on  in  his  breast.  He  foresaw 
the  resolution  he  would  take,  and  with  confident, 
sardonic  amusement  anticipated  the  delight  of 
upsetting  it  before  they  parted  to  meet  again 
at  the  Voross  ball. 

"Dinner  is  served,"  said  Andre,  standing 
aside  at  the  door.  The  two  entered  the  small 
dining-room,  cosy  with  its  heavy  oak  and  white 
napery  and  silver,  under  the  steady,  soft  candle- 
light, and  sat  down. 

A  thin  soup  and  sherry,  paprika  chicken  and 
champagne,  a  strudel,  some  sheep  cheese  with 
more  paprika,  a  demi-tasse  and  some  fiery 
brandy:  the  meal  was  simple,  but  cooked  to 
perfection,  and  Dr.  Nicholas  made  it  a  feast. 
He  charmed  Sandor  away  from  the  dark  mood 
in  which  Fanny  represented  a  repugnant  past, 
done  with  beyond  recall ;  Jolan  an  unattainable 
present;  Vilma  an  indifferent  future. 

Dr.  Nicholas  talked  on  desultorily,  grad- 
ually shortening  the  intervals  of  silence  in 
which  the  painter  would  indulge  in  his  de- 
pressing thoughts.  The  range  of  his  informa- 

143 


THE    DEVIL 

tion,  the  sharp  decison  of  his  opinions  and 
judgments,  which  with  a  single  turn  of  phrase 
revealed  the  conventionality  of  accepted  stand- 
ards, achieved  their  work.  Sandor  became 
interested. 

Politics,  travel,  history,  culture  and  civiliza- 
tion in  their  varying  manifestations  among  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  anecdote,  just  one  or  two 
good  stories,  the  true  inwardness  of  the  current 
scandal  in  the  highest  of  high  life — if  ever 
guest  "paid  for  his  dinner,"  it  was  Dr.  Nicho- 
las that  evening,  never  for  a  moment  losing 
sight  of  his  aim.  The  man  had  an  inexhausti- 
ble stock  of  topics  to  draw  upon,  an  infinite 
wealth  of  wit  and  wisdom  to  display  and  eluci- 
date. When,  towards  the  end  of  the  dinner,  he 
touched  more  definitely  upon  painting,  Sandor, 
who  had  drunk  most  of  the  wine,  was  won.  Dr. 
Nicholas  had  visited  the  great  galleries  of 
Europe,  it  appeared,  not  once,  but  a  hundred 
times.  He  knew  of  masterpieces  hung  in  dark 
corners,  unrecognized  as  yet ;  he  spoke  of  weak- 
nesses in  collections ;  and  the  great  private  gal- 
leries, it  was  evident,  had  always  been  open  to 
143 


THE    DEVIL 

him.  Here  was  a  man  from  whom  he  could 
learn  much  in  his  own  chosen  field,  Sandor 
reflected,  whether  it  were  of  Velasquez  or  Sar- 
gent, Frans  Hals  or  Whistler,  Rembrandt  or 
Holbein.  And  he  had  an  unerring  eye  for  be- 
ginners. He  reeled  off  names  that  had  come 
within  Tatray's  observation  in  the  art  reviews, 
with  illuminating  remarks  on  the  work  con- 
nected with  each,  making  daring  yet  well- 
connected  transitions  from  Budapest  to  Munich, 
to  Berlin,  to  Rome,  to  Madrid  and  Paris,  to 
London  and  New  York. 

"Painting,"  he  said,  "there  lies  the  future 
of  American  art.  They  think  it  is  music  over 
there,  but  it  isn't.  They  have  the  opera  fashion 
and  the  conductor  craze;  a  cultured  minority 
is  delicately  receptive  to  music,  but  I  doubt  if 
the  majority  will  ever  learn  to  like  anything 
better  than  musiquette.  I  am  certain  that  they 
will  never  find  the  true  expression  of  their 
artistic  temperament  in  that  medium.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  formative  influence  has  been  too 
strong.  However,  we  shall  see.  They  cer- 
tainly are  doing  interesting  things  over  there. 

144 


THE    DEVIL 

You  will  visit  the  country,  Sandor,  some  time, 
when  New  York  is  the  new  Rome,  the  empress 
of  the  modern  world." 

"Who  knows?  We  do  not  pay  enough  atten- 
tion to  American  art  over  here ;  we  are  blinded 
by  their  huge  material  achievements  and  by 
the  magnitude  of  their  scandals." 

"Yes,  we  suppress  ours  over  here  much  more 
carefully,"  commented  Dr.  Nicholas,  drily,  "and 
the  unthinking  mass  believes  in  consequence 
that  it  is  morally  far  superior.  No  harm  is 
done,  since  America  looks  down  on  Europe  with 
the  same  self-congratulatory  condescension." 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  den  for  another  cigar 
before  we  begin  to  think  of  dressing,"  proposed 
Sandor,  putting  down  his  napkin  and  rising. 

"By  all  means." 

As  the  two  re-entered  the  room,  the  fire, 
replenished  by  Andre,  flared  up  and  threw  its 
glow  upon  them.  Dr.  Nicholas's  face  was  set 
again;  his  eyes  glowed  with  determination  in 
their  deep  sockets,  accentuated  by  the  curiously 
arched  brows.  The  arrow-point  of  coal  black 
hair  pointed  to  the  eagle  nose  with  its  sensitive 
145 


THE    DEVIL 

nostrils,  the  mouth  closed  pitiless,  the  long, 
bony  chin  continuing  the  sharp  effect  in  a 
shadow  on  the  red  cravat. 

"It  is  warm  in  here,"  said  Sandor,  "we  had 
better  not  go  near  the  fire.  Sit  down,  Doctor." 

He  flung  himself  upon  the  lounge,  but  the 
other  strolled  slowly  around  the  room. 

"It  was  most  unfortunate,"  he  began  tenta- 
tively, "that  Fanny  should  have  come  in  this 
afternoon." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  jarred  upon  the  mood  of  the 
hour — Madame  Voross's  mood  and  yours,  not 
to  mention  mine  of  benevolent  interest  in  your 
case." 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  force  me  a  second  time 
to  suggest  that  we  change  the  subject." 

"I  know  that  I  have  no  right  to  speak,  that 
I  commit  a  breach  of  good  taste,  but — hang  it 
all,  Sandor,  I  know  how  things  stand.  I  have 
surprised  your  secret  and  you  know  it  You 
are  a  young  man.  I  am  not  so  much  older 
than  you,  though  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  the 
weight  of  ages  rested  upon  me.  I  have  seen 

146 


THE    DEVIL 

so  much  of  the  world,  so  much  of  unhappiness, 
of  ecstasy  lost  through  this  respect  for  con- 
ventionality clothed  in  high-sounding  words. 
Life  is  short,  Sandor,  and  fleeting,  and  the  ful- 
ness of  it  offers  itself  but  once." 

"You  talk  like  the  tempter  ..." 

"Let  us  agree  on  that  point,"  assented  Dr. 
Nicholas  with  ironical  smoothness.  "I  am  the 
tempter — to  what?  I  am  not  so  much  con- 
cerned with  your  happiness,  the  sunward  flight 
of  your  genius;  I  am  thinking  of  Jolan  and 
what  you  are  to  her." 

"I  am  nothing  to  her  now.  Henceforth  we 
shall  be  good,  frank  friends,  as  we  have  been 
in  the  past.  We  shall  be  able  to  look  her  hus- 
band in  the  eyes  without  a  tremor,  I  shall  be 
able  to  clasp  his  hand  honestly,  and  to  honor 
him  for  what  he  did  for  me  when  I  was  poor." 

"Why  did  he  do  it,  Sandor?  For  love  of  art? 
He  cannot  distinguish  between  a  daub  and  a 
Murillo.  You  were  better  out  of  the  way,  just 
then.  Oh,  simple,  ingenuous  Sandor!" 

"I  have  known  it,  I  have  forgotten  it !  What 
matters  the  motive,  since  the  end  was  good?" 
147 


THE    DEVIL 

"Spoken  like  a  man.  Do  you  have  no  thought 
for  Jolan  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  she  loves  you 
to  distraction — that  you  are  all  the  universe 
to  her,  all  her  world  of  loving  service,  all  her 
heaven  of  ecstasy?  Does  she  count  for  nothing 
in  your  thoughts?" 

"She  will  have  tranquillity  of  mind,  her 
honor,  the  respect  of  all  her  world." 

"The  morality  of  the  slave !  Have  you  never 
heard  of  the  morality  of  the  Master,  Sandor,  of 
the  Higher  Law  that  justifies  the  breaking  of 
the  Lower?" 

The  painter  was  silent.  Often,  in  his  mid- 
night hours  of  hopeless  longing,  he  had  strug- 
gled with  that  problem. 

"The  higher  law,"  whispered  Dr.  Nicholas, 
softly,  seductively.  "I  always  preach  it — the 
morality  of  the  Master." 

Sandor  wavered,  his  desire  prompting  his 
acceptance  of  the  new  creed.  With  a  desperate 
effort  of  his  waning  will  he  turned  from  it, 
however,  and  rejoined : 

"She  told  me  that  I  must  forget  her." 

"Don't  you  know  women  better  than  that? 
148 


THE    DEVIL 

She  wishes  to  be  taken;  her  love  is  too  great, 
too  noble  to  offer  itself.  She  trembled  in  your 
presence,  she  clung  to  her  husband's  arm  for 
protection — the  instinct  of  the  woman  to  delay 
the  hour  she  knows  must  come.  What  is  Vilma 
but  another  obstacle  placed  by  her  on  the  path 
you  both  must  tread?  Don't  you  see  that  the 
fate  of  both  of  you  is  in  stronger  hands  than 
your  own,  that  you  both  are  playing  but  the 
old  game  of  luring  flight  and  ultimate  capture, 
in  all  good  faith — that  there  is  to  be  no  end  to 
it  but  this?" 

Dr.  Nicholas  came  closer  and  knelt  behind 
Sandor  on  the  lounge  where  he  was  sitting,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands. 

"You  have  only  to  cast  your  eyes  on  her,  and 
she  is  yours,"  continued  the  voice — "yours 
whenever  you  shall  want  her  as  she  wants  you. 
You  have  only  to  stretch  out  your  arms  and 
you  hold  her  in  your  embrace.  Another  man 
must  struggle  a  lifetime  for  a  treasure  such 
as  you  find  in  your  path — " 

"I  do  not  want  it !  If  she  be  not  unapproach- 
149 


THE    DEVIL 

able,  if  she  be  not  far  beyond  my  boldest 
thought — I  do  not  care  for  the  treasure.  The 
things  we  really  value  must  be  striven  for, 
fought  for,  lived  for!" 

"Listen,  Sandor,  and  you  will  understand. 
Last  year — it  was  the  sixth  of  September ;  the 
very  date  was  impressed  on  me — I  had  a  terri- 
fying experience.  I  had  ordered  my  man  to 
put  away  my  summer  things  and  take  out  my 
heavier  clothing.  While  putting  on  a  waist- 
coat, I  found  in  one  of  the  pockets  a  gold  coin 
— left  there  when  it  was  laid  away. 

"  'Found  money/  I  said  to  myself,  trying  to 
remember  when  I  had  put  it  there.  Suddenly 
it  slipped  from  my  fingers  and  rolled  away.  I 
stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but  could  not  see  it.  A 
trifle  annoyed,  I  got  down  on  my  hands  and 
knees.  It  had  disappeared.  Would  you  believe 
it? — I  lost  my  temper.  I  moved  all  the  furni- 
ture, I  upset  things.  At  this  moment  my  valet 
came  in  and  joined  me  in  the  search.  The 
sweat  rolled  down  my  forehead.  I  swore.  1 
was  determined  to  find  that  coin.  My  rage 
increased — I,  habitually  cool,  became  gradually 

150 


THE    DEVIL 

frantic.  In  the  irritation  of  the  moment  I 
turned  on  my  servant  and  accused  him  of 
pocketing  the  coin.  He  has  a  nasty  temper, 
has  Antonio.  His  eyes  sparkled  and  he 
whipped  out  a  stilletto.  I  reached  for  my  re- 
volver ..." 

Dr.  Nicholas  took  from  his  pocket  a  small 
revolver  and  laid  it  on  the  table  within  Sander's 
reach  and  continued  slowly: 

"See?  With  this  revolver  I  almost  killed  a 
human  being  for  a  small  coin — a  coin  that  I 
did  not  need  and  had  known  nothing  about  a 
moment  before,  but  which  had  suddenly  became 
precious  as  I  saw  it  roll  out  of  my  reach." 

"I — when  I  find  money,  I  give  it  away  as 
a  tip." 

"So  do  I.  I  meant  to  give  it  to  Antonio  as 
a  tip,  but  you  see  it  rolled  away  from  me. 
What  we  lose,  we  run  after.  Such  is  man. 
You  will  run  after  your  treasure  so  unex- 
pectedly found,  once  you  have  lost  it,  and  you 
will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  recover  it. 

"In  the  same  way  the  value  of  this  woman 
will  grow  in  your  eyes.  You  will  suddenly 
151 


THE    DEVIL 

realize  that  you  owe  the  wings  of  your  inspira- 
tion to  her,  that  without  her  it  cannot  soar 
aloft  to  the  sun — that  her  breath  was  the 
breath  of  your  life.  When  she  rolls  away,  you 
will  say  to  yourself,  'Only  she  could  have  made 
me  happy !'  Your  art — you  would  give  it  up — 
give  up  everything  in  exchange  for  a  caress." 

Dr.  Nicholas  took  up  the  shawl  with  which 
Jolan  had  covered  herself  and  continued,  ever 
lower,  ever  more  temptingly: 

"This  is  the  shawl  that  has  caressed  her 
glorious  shoulders  .  .  ." 

"Her  glorious  shoulders,"  repeated  Sandor 
as  in  a  dream. 

"In  her  arms  is  the  dreamland  of  the 
blest  .  .  ." 

The  echo  came  back,  softly,  from  afar, 
"...  the  blest!" 

"Her  hair  has  the  fragrance  of  the  sweet- 
ness of  awakening  spring  ..." 

"...  the  sweetness!" 

"Her  eyes  are  like  twin  stars  ..." 

"     .  .  twin  stars!" 

"You  are  intended  for  each  other,  you  were 
152 


THE    DEVIL 

fated  to  meet  from  the  beginning  of  time — 
and  you  will  it  that  you  two  shall  live 
apart  .  .  .  ' 

"You  are  trying  to  tempt  me.    Stop !    Stop !" 

"The  morality  of  the  slave !  You  timid  miser ! 
I  tell  you,  life  is  a  treasure  only  when  we  freely 
spend  it." 

"Why  do  you  say  these  things?  What  is 
your  object?  Who  has  sent  you?" 

Dr.  Nicholas  raised  himself  from  his  stooping 
position  over  the  unseeing  man's  shoulder  and 
frowned. 

"Nobody  has  sent  me.    I  came.    I  am  here." 

Sandor  sat  up.  His  face  was  pale  and  wrung 
with  emotion.  His  voice  trembled,  but  his 
purpose  was  firm. 

"Well,"  he  said,  standing  up  and  facing  his 
tempter,  "this  is  my  decision.  I  don't  want 
the  gold  coin." 

Dr.  Nicholas  looked  at  him,  long,  steadily, 
inscrutably.  Then  he  asked,  with  a  slow  dis- 
tinctness of  utterance,  making  each  word  tell: 

"And  when  the  treasure  rolls  away — when 
some  one  else  possesses  it?" 
153 


THE    DEVIL 

"Who  ?"  shouted  Sandor !    "Who  ?" 

"I!     I  myself." 

The  painter  faced  the  man  who  was  con- 
fronting him  with  iron  decision  expressed  in 
his  features,  but  an  expectant  look  in  his  eyes. 
Thus  they  stood  for  a  full  minute,  in  silence, 
intent,  watchful. 

"You!"  gasped  Sandor,  struggling  for  utter- 
ance, "You!" 

"I.  This  very  evening,  to-night,  she  shall 
be  mine.  I'll  make  her  follow  me  where  I  will ! 
Ah!  For  six  thousand  years  I  have  not  had 
such  a  sweetheart!" 

"You  say—?" 

"She  has  turned  to  you  in  the  need  of  her 
longing  heart  and  you  have  failed  her.  I  will 
not  fail  her.  The  higher  law  rules  in  her 
breast ;  yours  is  the  morality  of  the  slave,  mine 
of  the  Master!  She  will  judge  us,  she  will  see, 
my  sweetheart!  She  will  bend  to  my  will 
gladly,  she  who  needs  support  so  much.  Come 
this  evening,  beneath  the  brilliant  lights,  into 
the  perfumed  air  of  her  ball-room  and  learn 
how  a  beautiful  woman  is  conquered  .  .  ." 

154 


THE    DEVIL 

"Stop!    Enough!" 

"You  will  be  there,  Sandor,  seeking  the  gold 
coin  that  has  rolled  away.  You  will  know 
where  she  is  when  she  is  missing  and  cannot 
be  found — with  me!  You  will  see  us  every- 
where, you  will  hear  us  laughing,  you  will  be 
groping  on  your  knees  for  the  treasure  you 
have  disdained  .  .  .  You  will  roam  the  streets 
all  night,  seeking,  seeking,  and  we  shall  see  you 
pass  under  our  window,  and  smile,  and  em- 
brace .  .  ." 

"Stop!     Stop!     I  say!" 

"Yes,  we'll  smile  at  you,  poor  fool.  And  her 
laugh  will  be  loudest  .  .  ." 

Sandor  gave  a  cry  of  rage  and  snatched  the 
revolver  from  the  table.  Dr.  Nicholas  grasped 
his  hand  and  held  it  down  with  muscles  of  iron, 
without  exertion.  The  fury  of  the  artist  sud- 
denly died  down;  he  bowed  his  head  and  stood 
motionless. 

His  adversary  deliberately  turned  his  back 
on  him  as  Andre  entered. 

"Did  you  call,  sir?" 

"Yes ;  my  coat.  I  have  to  go  out  for  a  little 
while." 

155 


THE    DEVIL 

The  servant  helped  the  Stranger  into  his 
fur-lined  coat,  handed  him  his  hat  and  went  out 
to  open  the  door  for  him.  Dr.  Nicholas  turned 
to  Sandor,  quietly  took  the  revolver  from  his 
unresisting  fingers  and  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket. 

"See,  my  poor  boy,"  he  said,  very  gently, 
with  paternal  admonishment,  "for  a  gold  coin 
that  rolled  away,  you,  too,  would  have  killed 
a  man." 


156 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  VOROSS  BALL 

THE  Voross  mansion  stood  in  grounds  that 
proved  louder  than  words  that  its  owner  could 
afford  to  buy  city  lots  by  the  acre  instead  of 
the  front  foot.  A  heavy  hand-wrought  iron 
fence  on  a  marble  base,  with  imposing  gates, 
high-arched,  hanging  on  elaborately  carved 
marble  posts,  surrounded  it,  giving  full  view 
of  it  to  the  admiring  passer-by,  yet  keeping  him 
at  a  proper  distance  from  the  abode  of  so 
much  wealth  and  heightening  the  impression 
which  the  pile,  with  its  vast  marble  terrace  and 
balustrade,  could  not  fail  to  make. 

The  mansion  itself — palace  were  the  better 
word — was  also  of  whitest  marble.  It  was  the 
work  of  a  young  architect,  a  Hungarian,  who 
had  put  into  it  all  his  talent,  all  his  enthusiasm, 
all  his  hope  of  the  future.  The  structure  had 
already  made  his  success :  he  had  been  engaged, 
157 


THE    DEVIL 

before  it  was  finished,  to  draw  the  plans  for 
the  new  house  of  an  Austrian  prince  whom 
the  growth  of  Vienna  had  enabled  to  turn  his 
immense  ancestral  domain,  once  far  beyond 
the  city's  confines,  into  a  private  residence  park, 
and  to  blossom  into  a  splendor  unprecedented 
in  the  long  and  eventful  history  of  his  race. 

The  young  man  had  had  a  free  hand  in  the 
designing  and  building  of  Voross's  pile.  The 
merchant  had  at  first  bothered  him  with  sug- 
gestions whose  taste  was  as  bad  as  their  costli- 
ness was  great ;  he  had  suggested  overelabora- 
tion,  heaviness  and  ugliness  where  stateliness 
and  distinction  were  his  aim.  But  Jolan  had 
very  gently,  very  tactfully  persuaded  him  to 
desist,  surrendering  to  him,  however,  in  the 
matter  of  interior  decoration,  whose  over- 
lavish  effects  the  architect,  however,  filled  with 
gratitude  towards  her  for  good  offices  that  had 
meant  so  much  to  him,  had  disguised  and  tem- 
pered and  frustrated  with  infinite  resourceful- 
ness. 

The  building  was  an  oblong  square,  pilastered 
and  pedimented,  an  inspirational  adaptation 
158 


THE    DEVIL 

of  Greek  and  Renaissance  models,  the  classic 
predominating.  The  carriage  drive  led  in  a 
semicircular  sweep  to  an  entrance  under  the 
terrace,  below  the  main  door,  which,  flanked 
by  sixteen  windows  on  each  side,  piled  three 
stories  high,  was  approached  by  an  imposing 
flight  of  broad  marble  steps.  An  orangerie 
was  built  out  at  the  back;  the  stables  were 
not  in  the  grounds,  but  in  the  adjoining  street. 

The  citizens  of  Budapest  admired  the  building 
as  an  added  ornament  to  the  beautiful  capital 
of  which  they  are  so  proud,  but  shook  their 
heads  a  little  over  its  owner  and  the  use  he 
could  possibly  make  of  his  gorgeous  state 
apartments.  They  were  more  fit  for  the 
ceremonial  life  of  some  minor  German  court; 
in  fact,  in  all  Germany  could  be  found  no 
princeling  boasting  the  possession  of  such  a 
palace,  not  even  though  some  eighteenth-cen- 
tury ancestor  had  left  him  a  petit  Versailles 
in  imitation  of  the  great. 

But  Voross  had  always  got  what  he  wanted, 
had  always  worked  undeviatingly  towards  his 
aim.    So  now,  if  this  superb  palace  stood  there, 
159 


THE    DEVIL 

it  was  only  because  it  must  serve  a  purpose.  A 
title,  said  some;  public  life,  said  others.  The 
majority  believed  the  ambition,  whose  outward 
expression  the  building  was,  to  be  Jolan's.  And 
a  few,  wise  with  the  cynical  inventiveness  of 
the  world,  wondered  if,  in  the  course  of  time, 
when  Voross  should  be  gathered  to  his  fathers, 
this  palace  of  commerce  would  not  be  trans- 
formed into  a  temple  of  art.  These,  the  circle 
in  which  the  Voross  couple  moved,  smiled  tol- 
erantly. Scandal  there  was  none,  they  will- 
ingly admitted,  but  if  there  were,  after  all 
(one  never  knows) — well,  there  was  a  beauti- 
ful and  constant  attachment  to  justify,  nay, 
to  sanction  it.  Budapest  is  a  gay  city,  loving 
the  joys  of  life  with  intensity,  tolerant  like 
all  the  continent,  ready  to  acknowledge  the  right 
of  others  to  judgment  under  the  flexible  Higher 
Moral  Law. 

On  the  night  of  the  ball,  the  night  of  the 
day  on  which  the  Stranger  had  come  to  Sandor 
Tatray,  the  day  on  which  the  painter  and  Jolan 
had  tacitly  confessed  to  each  other  the  secret 
that  long  had  been  no  secret  to  either,  the  night 
160 


THE    DEVIL 

which  was  to  witness  the  entrance  of  Laszlo 
Voross  upon  his  glory,  the  marble  mansion 
stood  white  in  its  snow-covered  grounds,  sil- 
vered by  the  moon.  Its  upper  stories  were  dark, 
the  windows  of  the  state  apartments  heavily 
draped,  emitting  no  ray  of  the  ocean  of  light 
within.  The  effect  was  one  of  flawless  beauty, 
an  idea  of  the  architect,  perhaps  incongruous 
with  the  festal  occasion,  but  certainly  impres- 
sive. Laszlo  had  wanted  to  light  the  place 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  to  light  it  from  without 
with  electricity  thrown  upward  against  the 
pure  lines  of  its  columns.  The  architect  had 
won  him  over  by  pointing  out  the  effect  of  the 
contrast  within,  compromising  at  the  same  time 
upon  ample  lights,  thrown  downward,  upon  the 
carriage  way. 

Crowds  had  gathered  at  the  entrance  gate 
early  in  the  evening  for  a  glimpse  of  the  arriv- 
ing guests,  in  all  their  finery,  through  the  win- 
dows of  their  carriages. 

The  scene  within  beggared  all  that  a  vivid 
imagination  could  have  pictured  for  itself.  On 
emerging  from  the  reception  rooms  to  right 
161 


THE    DEVIL 

and  left  of  the  carriage  entrance,  where  they 
left  their  wraps,  the  guests  found  themselves 
at  the  foot  of  a  monumental  marble  stairway, 
at  whose  head  Jolan  stood,  smiling,  welcoming, 
gently  propelling  the  arrivals  with  a  little  twist 
of  the  hand  to  right  and  left,  inviting  them  to 
enter  and  admire.  She  was  proud  and  happy, 
and  yet — preoccupied. 

She  wore  a  dress  of  palest  pink,  from  which 
rose  her  firm  white  bosom  and  gleaming  shoul- 
ders, her  stately  neck  and  the  distinction  of  her 
face  more  beautiful  in  repose  than  in  the  ani- 
mated smiles  required  by  the  hour.  Her 
chestnut  hair  was  piled  high  on  her  forehead, 
a  single  gem  of  great  beauty  and  size  scintilla- 
ting in  its  masses.  She  wore  gorgeous  jewels, 
whose  quality  was  not  marred  by  quantity. 
Her  eyes  shone  like  twin  stars,  but  ever  and 
anon  they  clouded  over.  And  ever  she  kept 
a  watchful  eye  upon  the  throng  of  guests 
mounting  towards  her  on  the  stately  marble 
stairway. 

It  was  a  happy  crowd,  come  to  amuse  itself, 
eager  to  be  amused ;  a  crowd  of  dark  faces  and 
162 


THE    DEVIL 

raven  tresses  and  plump  shoulders  and  dazzling 
smiles ;  a  Southern  crowd,  full  of  abandon,  free 
from  all  self -consciousness,  surrendering  to  the 
festive  atmosphere  the  moment  it  entered  upon 
it,  adding  to  it  with  all  its  will,  under  the 
influence  of  the  soft  strains  of  the  Zigani  band 
beyond. 

There  were  the  business  friends  of  Laszlo, 
and  their  wives  and  daughters,  their  sons  and 
cousins  and  nieces,  youth  thoughtlessly  happy, 
couples  spying  each  other  from  afar  and  ex- 
changing greetings  at  a  distance.  There  were 
representatives  of  art  and  letters,  Sander's 
contribution  to  the  Voross  circle.  There  wrere 
darker  men  still,  in  diplomatic  uniforms,  sec- 
retaries of  legation  and  military  attaches  of 
the  Balkan  principalities,  come  from  Vienna 
to  give  lustre  to  the  feast  offered  them  by  a 
man  with  whom  they  were  in  close  and  constant 
communication,  glancing  with  pleased  surprise 
at  the  beautiful  young  woman  who  was  his 
wife.  With  them  had  come  a  consul-general 
or  two,  of  far-away  little  Central  American 
republics,  daintily  built  little  men,  with  ex- 
163 


THE    DEVIL 

quisite  feet  and  slender,  perfect  hands,  immacu- 
late in  manners  as  in  dress,  wearing  large 
decorations,  and  flashing  from  their  large  black 
eyes  looks  of  undisguised  admiration  at  their 
hostess.  Graceful,  untiring  dancers  these, 
captivating  partners,  perfectly  at  home  among 
these  their  fellow-dwellers  under  a  Southern 
sun  half  way  around  the  world. 

The  vast  marble  apartments,  with  their  rich 
hangings  and  the  brilliant  softness  of  innum- 
erable wax  candles,  were  filling  with  the  gay, 
soft  roar  of  light  conversation,  of  laughter, 
exchanged  compliments  and  glad  greetings. 
And  still  the  guests  arrived,  and  still  Jolan 
kept  her  post,  peering  anxiously  down  the  vista 
of  the  majestic  staircase  at  her  feet,  her  smile 
growing  ever  more  mechanical,  her  preoccupa- 
tion greater. 

The  Countess  von  Biederstein-Marleburg, 
an  American  with  an  Austrian  husband, 
arrived,  laughed  her  jolly  little  laugh,  and 
passed  on,  her  handsome  partner  and  a  bevy 
of  officers  in  her  train,  as  always.  They  were 
the  only  representatives  of  the  higher  nobility 

164 


THE    DEVIL 

whom  Vorosg  had  been  able  to  capture — his 
star  guests.  There  were  many  lesser  nobles 
present,  of  course,  since  one  cannot  throw  a 
stone  in  the  dual  monarchy  without  hitting  one, 
but  they  were  already  somewhat  small  game 
to  the  man  of  millions,  more  eager  to  know  him 
than  he  was  to  know  them,  indebted  to  him  for 
innumerable  small  favors,  from  commissions 
for  wine  or  cigarettes  to  commissions  in  some 
small  Balkan  army;  occasionally  for  loans. 
Still,  they  helped  to  adorn  the  occasion. 

Then  came  Vilma  Toth,  the  orphaned  heir- 
ess, the  young  girl  whom  Jolan  had  taken  under 
her  wing  on  her  entrance  upon  the  world. 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  and 
smiled,  and  blushed  a  little,  Vilma  with  all  her 
old  frankness,  Jolan  with  a  sudden  reservation 
which  was  instinctive  and  beyond  her  power 
of  rapid  realization. 

"Oh,  Jolan,"  said  the  girl,  admiringly,  "how 
beautiful  it  is.  What  a  palace!  You  must  be 
very  happy  and  proud  to-night." 

"Do  you  like  it?    I  am  so  glad."    She  evaded 
a  direct  answer;  it  was  beyond  her. 
165 


THE    DEVIL 

"Has  Sandor  arrived  yet?" 

Jolan  involuntarily  looked  down  the  stair- 
case again. 

"Not  yet,"  she  said,  briefly.  She  shook  with 
effusion  the  hand  of  a  new  arrival  and  retained 
her  a  moment  in  conversation.  Vilma  looked 
at  her  in  a  puzzled  way,  then  passed  on,  fol- 
lowed by  the  poor  relation  who  was  her  chap- 
eron and  dame  de  compagnie. 

The  young  architect,  one  of  the  first  arrivals, 
claimed  her  and  proudly  showed  her  the  apart- 
ments. On  his  arm  she  progressed  quietly  from 
room  to  room,  her  slender  form  gracefully 
swaying  in  a  movement  that  was  her  own,  her 
piquant  face,  with  its  aureole  of  golden  blond 
hair,  nodding  greetings  on  all  sides. 

Vilma  Toth,  heiress,  young  and  more  than 
passably  good-looking,  with  the  cachet  that 
wealth  has  learned  to  copy  so  deceivingly  from 
rank,  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  Laszlo  Voross's 
occasional  partners  in  enterprises  of  the  great- 
est magnitude,  and  had  been  left,  at  the  age  of 
twelve,  the  only  possessor  of  her  father's  large 
fortune,  which  during  the  nine  years  that  had 
166 


THE    DEVIL 

since  elapsed  had  been  more  than  doubled  in 
Voross's  capable  hands.  On  her  marriage, 
Jolan  had  taken  an  interest  in  the  lonely  child 
in  her  convent  school,  with  not  a  single  relative 
to  go  to  for  her  vacations,  and  the  difference  in 
age  between  them  being  so  slight  the  relation 
had  gradually  grown  into  friendship.  It  was 
under  Jolan's  wing  that  Vilma  had  made  her 
bow  to  the  society  of  finance  and  commerce 
into  which  she  had  been  born ;  it  was  Jolan  who 
tried  to  form  her  character,  to  soften  certain 
traits  of  the  girl  whose  loneliness  had  engen- 
dered not  melancholy,  but  self-will ;  but  in  vain. 
Suitors,  Vilma  and  the  fortune  that  went 
with  her  had  had  many,  almost  before  she  left 
the  school-room ;  friends  she  had  very  few,  for, 
following  the  bent  of  her  mind,  she  had  de- 
veloped into  an  independent  young  woman 
whose  unconventionality  of  speech  and  action 
were  ascribed  to  haughty  disdain  of  others, 
whereas  in  a  girl  less  fortunately  situated  they 
might  have  been  thought  rather  unattractive — 
little  eccentricities  that  would  be  subdued  by 
direct  contact  with  life.  She  had  threatened 

10? 


THE    DEVIL 

to  run  a  racing  stable  of  her  own,  had  traveled 
with  no  chaperon  but  a  maid,  had  led  on  a 
music  teacher  until  the  poor  boy  was  distracted, 
and  had  played  fast  and  loose  with  two  or 
three  men  of  title,  disregarding  all  advice, 

ready  even,  she  had  plainly  intimated,  to  resent 

i 

it.  Jolan  had  grown  rather  weary  of  the  task 
she  had  taken  so  gladly  upon  her  shoulders  and 
welcomed  with  genuine  relief  the  sudden  pas- 
sion which  the  girl  developed  for  Sandor.  Him 
she  would  marry  and  none  else!  So  Jolan  had 
undertaken  the  task  to  bring  them  together, 
combating  the  painter's  lukewarmness  with  all 
her  power,  ascribing  it  to  Fanny's  influence, 
though,  of  course,  she  knew  the  reason  of  his 
disinclination  well  enough. 

She  had  pondered  much  over  the  situation, 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  a  conscientious^ 
virtuous  woman.  That  she  and  Sandor  had 
been  drifting  for  a  long  time,  ever  so  little, 
almost  imperceptibly,  she  was  well  aware. 
Nothing  would  ever  come  of  it,  of  course,  so 
why  not  cut  the  knot  heroically,  put  all  this 
behind  them  and  ensure  safety  for  them  both? 

168 


THE    DEVIL 

This  had  been  her  reasoning  and  upon  it  she 
had  acted.  Sandor,  susceptible  to  her  silent 
influence  as  ever,  had  ultimately  acquiesced. 
Only  yesterday  he  had  made  known  to  her  his 
resolution.  She  had  felt  so  content,  so  safe, 
relieved  of  a  long,  if  vague  and  distant,  anxiety. 
She  had  hastened  to  tell  Vilma  to  be  ready  for 
the  proposal  that  very  evening. 

And  now? 

Vilma  continued  her  tour  of  the  rooms,  ad- 
mired, envied,  coveted.  In  the  library  they 
found  Laszlo  Voross,  with  a  little  group  of  men, 
drinking  champagne,  smoking  cigars  and  chat- 
ting. They  all  got  up,  but  Vilma  begged  them 
to  remain  seated.  Her  glance  ran  over  them 
rapidly,  and — Sandor  was  not  among  them. 
She  took  a  cigarette,  lighted  it  elaborately, 
perched  herself  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the  deep 
leather  chairs  and  said,  casually: 

"All  your  guests  must  have  arrived  by 
now?" 

"Mostly  all.  One  or  two  are  still  missing. 
Two  I  know,  for  sure." 

"You  keep  close  count  of  your  invitations, 
169 


THE    DEVIL 

Monsieur  Voross.  Method  is  everything,  is  it 
not  so?" 

She  spoke  a  little  absent-mindedly,  her  eyes 
upon  the  marble  corridor  through  which  couples 
flitted  to  and  from  the  ball-room  in  a  ceaseless 
stream.  She  was  watching. 

"In  this  case  I  have  kept  close  count,"  re- 
joined Voross,  with  a  laugh,  "for  both  are 
guests  worth  watching  for.  One  of  them  is 
Sandor  Tatray,  the  pride  of  our  artistic  world, 
the  other" — here  he  turned  to  Count  Bieder- 
stein-Marleburg  as  the  proper  person,  on  ac- 
count of  his  rank,  to  receive  this  information 
direct — "is  a  distinguished  foreigner,  I  may 
add  an  exalted  personage,  whose  name  and  title 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  disclose." 

The  Count  looked  politely  interested. 

"What  name  does  he  use?"  he  asked. 

"He  calls  himself  Dr.  Nicholas." 

"Don't  know.  Cannot  place  him  under  that 
name.  I  will  take  a  look  at  him  by-and-by." 

Voross  swelled  with  pride.  His  announce- 
ment had  had  the  effect  he  hoped  it  would  have. 
He  saw  with  delight  a  few  of  the  men  leave 
170 


THE    DEVIL 

the  library  to  spread  the  news  that  some  royalty 
incognito  was  expected,  and  quietly  took  an- 
other sip  of  champagne. 

Vilma  got  up,  deposited  on  an  ash  tray  the 
cigarette  which  she  had  allowed  to  go  out  the 
moment  she  had  lighted  it,  gave  the  architect  a 
signal  with  her  fan,  and,  taking  his  arm  again, 
began  to  admire  the  superb  carving  of  the 
wainscoting,  gradually  edging  towards  the  door- 
way. In  the  hall  she  sighed  a  little,  looked  at 
its  impressive  marble  height  and  width,  and 
said,  a  little  wistfully: 

"Will  you  build  me  a  house  by-and-by.  not 
quite  so  grand  as  this,  but  just  as  beautiful?" 

The  architect  blushed  with  pleasure. 

"Indeed,  I  will,  Mademoiselle,  and  it  shall  be 
the  best  of  which  I  am  capable." 

"Thank  you.  It  will  be  beautiful.  Perhaps 
it  will  be  soon." 

She  felt  strangely  subdued  this  evening, 
eager  to  see  Sandor  and  hear  his  plea,  but  calm 
in  her  knowledge  of  what  would  be  the  end. 

"Now,  show  me  the  ball-room,"  she  said, 
rousing  herself.  "I  hear  that  is  the  real  tri- 
171 


THE    DEVIL 

umph  of  the  house,  to  which  everything  else  on 
this  floor  only  serves  as  introduction." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  disappointed." 

They  strode  rapidly  on,  and  entered  the  ball- 
room, filled  with  dancing  couples. 

Vilina  gave  a  little  cry  of  admiration. 

"How  beautiful!"  she  said.  "It  is  like  a 
dance  in  fairyland,  in  the  Princess's  pal- 
ace." 

The  room  filled  in  height  two  stories  of  the 
building,  its  depth  and  width  being  all  in  per- 
fect proportion.  At  the  back,  facing  the  en- 
trance, tall  windows  opened  into  the  conserva- 
tory, the  full  width  of  the  room,  the  openings 
banked  with  green,  with  ferns  and  mosses  and 
flowers  in  masses,  reaching  up  to  the  fronded 
palms  in  the  background.  It  was  semidark  in 
there,  under  the  snow-covered  glass  roof,  but 
in  the  ball-room  itself  a  regal  crystal  chande- 
lier shed  from  its  innumerable  branches  the 
pure,  steady,  soft  light  of  wax  candles.  It 
bathed  the  walls  of  inlaid  marbles  with  their 
malachite  pilasters,  it  shimmered  in  the  gilding 
of  the  foliated  capitals,  and  gave  the  radiance 
172 


THE    DEVIL 

of  fairyland  to  the  white  dresses,  the  gleaming 
shoulders,  the  stiff  white  shirt  bosoms,  and  the 
gold  and  red  and  blue  and  white  of  the  uniforms 
of  the  couples  moving  on  the  vast  expanse  of 
floor. 

The  music  in  the  gilded  balcony  high  above 
their  heads,  there  in  the  entrance,  continued  its 
soft,  dreamy  valse.  The  vast  room  was  hushed, 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  languorous  invita- 
tion of  the  strings,  and  the  faint  murmur  of 
rhythmically  sliding  feet.  It  was  a  vision  of 
sensuous  beauty,  appealing  to  the  eye,  soothing 
the  ear. 

Then  the  music  stopped,  and  the  magic 
broke.  Laughter  rose,  and  loud  chatter,  cir- 
cling couples  stopped,  the  men  offering  them 
their  arms  and  fanning  them  as  they  began  to 
move  towards  the  corridor,  or  into  the  con- 
servatory, in  search  of  seats  and  refreshments. 
There  was  a  scurrying  to  the  gilded  chairs 
against  the  walls  for  articles  deposited  there — 
filmy  shawls,  dainty  boas.  In  the  centre  of  the 
floor,  however,  a  dozen  young  couples  had 
stopped,  their  dark  eyes  gleaming,  their  teeth 
173 


THE    DEVIL 

flashing,  children  of  the  soil,  these,  craving  a 
new  delight  after  the  Viennese  valse. 

"Czardas!"  the  young  men  cried,  looking  up 
at  the  famous  swarthy  leader  in  the  balcony, 
"Czardas!" 

Clapping  of  hands,  huzzahs,  followed.  The 
guests  came  running  in  from  all  directions, 
conversations  were  dropped  without  an  unneces- 
sary word  of  explanation,  the  room  became 
crowded,  the  foreigners  huddling  together  in  a 
corner  in  eager  expectancy,  tingling  with  the 
communicated  enthusiasm  of  the  national 
dance. 

"Czardas !    Czardas !" 

The  leader  rose.  They  cheered  him,  loud  and 
long.  Then  he  put  his  violin  under  his  chin, 
caressed  it  with  his  cheek,  whispered  to  it, 
closed  his  eyes,  and  began  to  play. 

Eyes  lighted  up,  faces  grew  wistful.  The 
violin  sang  softly  to  these  children  of  the  city, 
telling  them  of  the  pusta  which  their  race  had 
made  its  home  for  a  millennium.  They  saw  it 
at  dusk,  they  heard  the  wind  sweeping  over  its 
vast  distances,  the  violins  supporting  the 

174 


THE    DEVIL 

leader,  the  zymbalon  adding  its  deeper  note. 
The  melancholy  of  this  music  held  them;  born 
of  them,  it  returned  to  claim  its  kinship.  Then 
the  measure  quickened;  a  reckless  note  crept 
into  the  music,  and  the  dance  was  on. 

It  was  a  czardas  such  as  rarely  is  seen  nowa- 
days in  Budapest — not  the  dance  of  the  schools, 
but  the  true  expression  of  a  national  character, 
reckless  in  its  abandon,  bewitching  in  its 
poetry,  enchaining  by  its  passion  and  fire. 

The  Voross  ball  was  a  success,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  of  that. 

Jolan  had  remained  standing  at  the  head  of 
the  stairway,  welcoming  the  few  late  comers. 
Still  she  was  watching,  still  she  was  peering 
down  its  length  into  the  hall  below. 

Sandor  had  not  yet  arrived.  He  must  come, 
she  knew,  and  soon.  Why  did  she  thus  tarry, 
what  would  she  say  to  him,  what  was  her  pur- 
pose? She  did  not  know,  she  had  no  plan.  She 
had  been  on  the  point  of  joining  her  guests 
when  Vilma  had  arrived;  then,  at  the  sight  of 
her,  yesterday  her  friend,  to-day  her  enemy, 
175 


THE    DEVIL 

her  rival,  she  had  lingered  on.  She  was  more 
determined  than  ever  to  bring  on  this  marriage, 
to  place  herself  and  Sandor  beyond  the  reach 
of  danger.  She  would  remain  true  to  her  hus- 
band, true  to  honor,  true  to  herself, — her  mind 
was  made  up,  and  yet  .  .  . 

She  sighed.  How  she  regretted  the  events  of 
that  afternoon,  and  yet  how  sweet  had  been 
that  revelation,  that  moment  of  tacit  confession 
which  had  been  all  but  sealed  by  their  kiss! 

Her  thought  reverted  to  the  Stranger,  with 
his  polite  insolence,  and  the  magic  of  his  elo- 
quence. She  hated  him,  she  feared  him.  He 
had  proved  himself  her  master,  he  had  forced 
her  even  to  ask  him  again  to  her  house,  after 
she  had  told  him  that  he  would  not  be  welcome. 
Well,  he  had  not  come.  Perhaps,  having  won 
his  victory,  he  was  content,  and  would  respect 
her  wishes  by  staying  away. 

For  him,  too,  she  had  watched  closely,  anx- 
iously, during  the  two  hours  of  her  duty  at 
the  head  of  that  stairway,  welcoming  her 
guests.  She  had  scrutinized  each  dark  head 
coming  up  the  broad  steps  until  the  face  came 

176 


THE    DEVIL 
within  the  level  of  her  vision.     He  had  not 

come,  of  this  she  was  sure,  and  in  her  heart 
she  felt  thankful  to  him  for  that. 

But  Sandor?  She  lingered  a  moment  longer, 
then  the  opening  strains  of  the  czardas  struck 
upon  her  ears.  She  must  join  her  guests. 

She  turned,  and  gave  a  low  cry  of  fright. 

Dr.  Nicholas  stood  before  her. 


17? 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DEVIL  IN   SOCIETY 

JOLAN  recovered  herself  at  once.  If  this 
strange  man  had  a  mysterious  habit  of  slipping 
into  other  people's  houses,  why,  after  all,  it 
might  be  only  an  eccentricity,  a  sort  of  "parlor 
trick"  as  amusing  to  him  as  it  was  disconcert- 
ing to  those  upon  whom  the  trick  was  played. 
He  was  going  out  of  her  life  the  next  afternoon. 
She  was  through  with  him,  and  must  make  the 
best  of  him  during  the  few  crowded  hours  of 
the  evening. 

Dr.  Nicholas  offered  her  his  arm  with  all 
the  distinction  of  his  manner. 

"Your  palace  is  superb,"  he  said  with  serious 
appreciation,  "a  masterpiece  of  pure  art, 
worthy  of  its  beautiful  mistress." 

"Have  you  been  here  long?"  she  could  not 
help  asking. 

"A  little  while.  Long  enough  to  take  a  good 
178 


THE    DEVIL 

look  around.  Your  architect  is  a  master  of 
stately  proportions  and  imposing  perspective. 
He  will  go  far.  I  must  look  him  up." 

They  were  moving  slowly  down  the  long,  wide 
marble  corridor  towards  the  ball-room.  Jolan 
suppressed  the  question  that  rose  to  her  lips, 
but  Dr.  Nicholas  answered  it  none  the  less. 

"I  came  alone,"  he  said. 

The  animated,  colorful  crowd  on  the  dancing 
floor  welcomed  her  with  a  cry  of  welcome  and 
homage.  Sets  had  been  formed  for  a  lancers, 
which  was  immediately  transformed  into  a 
quadrille  d'honneur,  space  being  made  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  for  Jolan  and  Dr.  Nicholas, 
the  Countess  Biederstein-Marleburg  and  Vo- 
ross,  the  Count  and  the  Burgomaster's  wife,  the 
Burgomaster  and  his  sister,  the  still  youthful 
widow  of  a  general. 

The  dance  started  with  all  due  ceremony. 
Jolan,  always  stately,  went  through  it  with  the 
dignity  of  a  chatelaine,  Dr.  Nicholas  with  infin- 
ite distinction  in  which  there  was  not  the 
slightest  touch  of  affectation.  The  Count  made 
bows  as  if  he  were  at  the  Hofburg,  treating  not 
179 


THE    DEVIL 

only  the  ladies,  but  the  quadrille  itself  with 
the  greatest  deference.  Voross  and  the  Burgo- 
master worked  hard  and  conscientiously,  feel- 
ing that  the  eye  of  the  world  was  upon  them. 
The  Burgomaster's  wife  remembered  that  she 
had  a  second  cousin  who  had  married  a  mag- 
nat,  and  rose  to  the  occasion;  the  American 
Countess  and  the  general's  widow  laughed  a 
great  deal  and  romped.  In  fact,  the  quadrille 
d'honneur  ended  in  a  general  romp,  crowned  by 
long  glissades  along  the  polished  floor,  the 
Countess  setting  the  example,  countenanced  by 
Dr.  Nicholas,  more  distinguished  than  ever, 
cool  and  immaculate  in  his  perfectly  fitting 
dress  clothes,  as  he  slid  along,  the  American's 
little  hand  clinging  to  his  arm. 

The  ball  was  certainly  a  great  success,  and 
it  was  tending  towards  an  unforgettable  climax. 

When  the  dance  was  over,  introductions 
were  in  order.  The  Countess,  all  amiability, 
smiled,  and  said,  "Come  to  talk  to  me,  Doctor, 
by-and-by."  The  Count  showed  himself  a  man 
of  the  great  world,  putting  enough  reserve  into 
his  deference  to  save  his  face  should  the 

180 


THE    DEVIL 

stranger  prove,  after  all,  not  to  be  the  august 
personage  he  was  represented  to  be ;  the  whole 
company  pressed  around  for  introductions, 
anxious  to  shine  in  the  reflected  glory  of  this 
mysterious  member  of  some  reigning  house. 
The  little  diplomats,  having  consulted  together 
for  a  brief  moment,  joined  the  throng.  In  brief, 
Dr.  Nicholas  was  certainly  the  success  which 
Voross  had  planned  him  to  be. 

Gradually  the  company  dispersed  for  ices,  a 
little  rest  and  a  little  chat  before  the  next  dance 
should  begin ;  the  slow  parade  through  the  vast 
apartments  was  begun  again,  and  Vorb'ss  car- 
ried off  his  guest  of  honor  to  the  library  for  a 
cigarette.  But  before  he  followed  his  host, 
Dr.  Nicholas  found  time  to  say  to  Jolan: 
"Won't  you  introduce  me  to  Mademoiselle  Toth 
when  you  have  an  opportunity?  I  am  anxious 
to  meet  the  future  wife  of  our  young  friend." 

In  the  library  everybody  rose  when  Dr.  Nich- 
olas entered,  and  remained  standing  until  he 
had  seated  himself,  with  a  little  wave  of  the 
hand  giving  permission  to  follow  his  example. 
Smoking  was  not  resumed  until  after  he  had 
181 


THE    DEVIL 

lighted  his  cigarette;  then  everybody  was 
silent,  waiting  for  him  to  open  the  conversa- 
tion. It  was  all  en  regie,  according  to  etiquette. 

A  new  difficulty  presented  itself  when  those 
present  began  to  address  him.  Monseigneur, 
Highness,  Serene  Highness,  Royal  Highness, 
Sir,  all  possible  honorifics  were  heaped  upon 
him  in  an  avalanche  of  confusion.  Dr.  Nicho- 
las grew  testy. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  •  at  last,  somewhat 
briefly,  "my  name  to-night  is  Dr.  Nicholas. 
We'll  dispense  with  the  rest." 

Silence  fell  upon  the  group.  The  unknown, 
having  thus  publicly  fortified  himself  behind 
his  incognito,  began  to  move  around  here  and 
there,  addressing  this  person  and  that,  in  the 
most  approved  royal  fashion.  His  remarks 
were  quietly  disagreeable. 

"You  should  not  have  left  your  garrison, 
lieutenant,  without  leave  of  absence,"  he  said 
to  a  young  soldier  who  had  come  some  distance, 
without  applying  for  permission.  "Better  be 
more  careful  next  time,"  he  remarked  to  a  mer- 
chant who  had  been  nearly  caught  conveying 

182 


THE    DEVIL. 

arms  to  the  Mad  Mullah;  "that  jockey  of  yours 
will  get  you  into  trouble,"  he  whispered  sternly 
to  a  young  man  whose  fondness  of  racing  was 
exhausting  his  means. 

He  knew  everybody,  it  appeared;  what  is 
more,  he  appeared  to  know  everything  about 
everybody's  affairs. 

"You  should  not  show  yourself  so  openly 
with  Pfiffi  Schwarz  in  the  Ringstrasse,"  he 
went  on  to  the  scion  of  one  of  the  great  Jewish 
financial  houses.  "We  saw  you,  and  Somebody 
made  a  remark  about  it,  Mr.  Mordecai." 

Flattered,  yet  frightened  by  this  announce- 
ment of  high  interest  in  his  doings,  the  youth 
stammered : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Your  Roy. . .  Sir. . . 
Doctor,  my  name  is  Mortimer  de  Kay." 

"Your  father's  name  was  Mordecai,  and  a 
good  old  name  it  is.  Mordecai  was  a  gentle- 
man at  Court  ages  before  the  Mortemarts 
and  the  Mortimers  and  the  De  Kays  ever 
dreamt  of  creeping  up  out  of  nothingness. 
Why  not  be  proud  of  a  patronymic  2400 
years  old  ?" 

183 


THE    DEVIL 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  graciousness  itself, 
Jo  the  discomfited  Voross,  trembling  for  the 
/ate  of  his  great  night. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  Monsieur  Voross,"  he 
said,  "but  we  all  have  disagreeable  duties  to 
perform.  Now  I  am  going  to  stroll  around 
among  the  ladies.  No;  stay  here  with  your 
guests,  do  not  accompany  me." 

Dr.  Nicholas  took  away  with  him  from  the 
library  the  constraint  he  had  created.  The  talk 
there  was  resumed  gaily,  those  present  merely 
resolving  not  to  put  themselves  in  the  way  of 
the  exalted  presence  again  if  they  could  possi- 
bly avoid  it. 

On  one  of  the  great  sofas  in  the  hall,  a  fes- 
tive young  Servian  diplomat  was  being  bored 
to  death  by  an  intellectual  lady  of  uncertain 
age.  She  wore  glasses  and  a  self-satisfied  face, 
a  pretentious  classical  dress,  and  loose,  rumpled 
gloves.  She  had  written  several  "advanced" 
books.  She  felt  that  her  intellect  would  make 
a  deep  impression  upon  this  mysterious  great 
personage;  in  fact,  she  had  been  lying  in  wait 
for  him  there,  near  the  library  door. 

184 


THE    DEVIL 

"Introduce  him  to  me,"  she  said  imperiously 
to  the  Servian. 

"But... but,"  stammered  he,  "I  cannot  do 
that.  He  must  command  me  to  present  you  to 
him." 

"He  is  incognito." 

Torn  between  desire  to  get  away  from  this 
bore  and  his  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  courts, 
the  diplomat  hesitated.  Dr.  Nicholas,  seeing 
that  he  was  in  for  it,  stopped  before  them. 

"Will  you  please  introduce  me  to  Mademois- 
elle Mutschera,  Monsieur  Brousnitza?"  he 
asked  pleasantly. 

"He  has  a  royal  memory  for  names,"  thought 
the  diplomat,  and  "He  has  heard  of  me," 
exulted  the  woman. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Dr.  Nicholas?"  she  said 
graciously,  as  the  Servian,  having  bowed  with 
grateful  respect  to  his  deliverer,  hastened  off 
in  search  of  amusement. 

"Thank  you,  with  pleasure." 

The  authoress  felt  that  she  must  lead  the 
conversation  at  once,  if  she  were  to  make  an 
impression,  so  she  continued: 
185 


THE    DEVIL 

"We  were  just  discussing  Ibsen  when  you 
came  up." 

"Monsieur  Brousnitza  must  have  devoted 
much  thought  to  him." 

"No,"  in  all  innocence,  "he  said  that  he 
thought  his  plays  dull.  No  intellect  at  all,  you 
know.  An  insipid  young  man.  He  told  me  that 
he  would  rather  see  the  Merry  Widow.'' 

"Thou  shalt  not  steal.  Translated  from  the 
German,"  mused  Dr.  Nicholas  aloud. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"I  am  sure  I  beg  yours.  Something  I  saw  in 
New  York  the  other  day  came  to  my  mind." 

"New  York?  Oh  yes,  Ibsen  is  very  popular 
there.  Of  course,  over  there  the  women  are  so 
much  more  advanced  than  here,  they  feel  the 
significance  of  his  plays  as  only  a  few  delicate 
minds  can  do  here." 

Mademoiselle  Mutschera  looked  self-con- 
scious. Dr.  Nicholas  gave  her  a  very  disagree- 
able look  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  She  did 
not  see  it  so  she  continued, 

"Ibsen  understands  women." 

"Does  he?  Perhaps.  If  he  does,  he  is  the 
186 


THE    DEVIL 

only  man  that  ever  did.  But  that  is  not  the 
question.  Do  women  understand  him?" 

"Oh,  indeed,  they  do  ...  the  fine  minds 
among  them,  of  course.  The  common  mass 
never  understands  anything." 

"May  I  tell  you  my  frank  opinion?  Ibsen  did 
not  understand  women.  If  he  had  understood 
them,  he  would  not  have  had  to  end  so  many 
of  his  plays  violently,  with  death.  It  is  very 
inartistic  to  get  one's  characters  into  a  muddle, 
and  then  kill  them  off  to  get  out  of  it.  It  is 
dodging  the  real  issue  to  which  the  play  has 
led  up." 

"Oh,  but  ...  " 

"Please  hear  me  out.  Women  do  not  under- 
stand Ibsen,  they  don't  understand  themselves. 
Few  men  understand  themselves,  either,  for 
that  matter,  but  they,  at  least,  have  no  psy- 
chological delusions  on  the  subject.  Unfor- 
tunately, whenever  an  author  puts  an  abso- 
lutely unintelligible  woman  into  a  book  or  a 
play,  the  women,  being  unintelligible  to  them- 
selves, cry  out  in  chorus,  'How  well  he  knows 
us!'  It  is  a  sort  of  negative  knowledge,  per- 
187 


THE    DEVIL 

haps,  a  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  an  im- 
penetrable fog." 

"But  you  will  admit  that  Ibsen  has  taught 
women  to  be  themselves?" 

"He  has  taught  them  to  be  imitation  Ibsen 
heroines, — poor  imitations,  mostly,  at  that.  So 
they  are  vaguely  discontented  with  everything, 
aggressively  disagreeable  to  their  bewildered 
husbands,  and  they  expect  other  women's  hus- 
bands to  climb  steeples  and  fall  off  backward 
for  their  sakes.  When  women  try  to  make 
direct  applications  of  symbolism,  when  they 
mistake  inverted  idealism  for  realism,  strange 
things  happen." 

The  authoress  suddenly  felt  towards  Dr. 
Nicholas  as  the  Servian  diplomat  had  felt 
towards  her  a  few  moments  ago.  What  a  dis- 
agreeable man !  And  she  had  hoped  to  impress 
him  with  the  power  of  her  intellect !  Ah !  Her 
dearest  friend,  her  rival,  Mademoiselle  Temes- 
var,  the  historian,  was  coming  down  the  cor- 
ridor, alone  and  pensive.  Mademoiselle  Temes- 
var  was  pretty  and  well-groomed.  The  author- 
ess hailed  her. 

188 


THE    DEVIL 

"Mishka,"  she  said,  getting  up,  "let  me  pre- 
sent Dr.  Nicholas  to  you." 

She  bowed  with  offended  dignity,  and  stalked 
off,  leaving  the  two  standing  face  to  face. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Mishka.  What  a 
charming  name,  the  Doctor  thought,  and  what 
a  pretty  face,  and  what  a  pity  that  he  was  going 
to  snub  her. 

"Dr.  Nicholas,"  began  the  fair  historian,  "I 
hear  that  you  have  travelled  much,  and  that  you 
are  a  great  linguist.  I  heard  you  talk  faultless 
Hungarian  a  while  ago,  then  French,  then  Ger- 
man, then  English  to  the  Countess.  ...  I  sup- 
pose it  was  English?" 

"It  was  American.  The  Americans  know  no 
language  but  their  own,  not  even  English." 

"I  thought  so.  Well,  Dr.  Nicholas,  are  you 
a  student,  or  merely  a  linguist?" 

"I  have  read  much  in  all  the  languages  I 
know.  That  is  what  you  mean,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes.    Are  you  interested  in  history?" 

"Very  much.  I  have  followed  the  histories 
of  Nero  and  Caligula,  of  Genghis  Khan  and 
Tamerlane,  of  Ivan  the  Terrible,  Charles  II., 

189 


THE    DEVIL 

Louis  XV.,  Katharine  ...  I  cannot  name  them 
all  ...  with  deepest  interest." 

"Well,  that  is  not  quite  what  I  mean.  Have 
you  studied  the  history  of  the  literatures  of  the 
world?" 

"To  some  extent,  yes." 

"Now  we  have  reached  the  point.  You  see, 
Dr.  Nicholas,  I  am  engaged  in  writing  a  history 
of  the  Devil  in  Literature." 

"You  have  come  to  headquarters,  so  to  speak, 
Mademoiselle  Mishka — pardon  me  if  I  use  your 
first  name,  it  is  so  attractive.  Yes,  I  can  say 
that  I  am  authority  on  Devil  literature." 

"Oh,  how  delightful.  Will  you  let  me  cate- 
chize you  ?" 

Dr.  Nicholas  made  a  hasty  movement  of  the 
hand. 

"Please  do  not  use  that  word,"  he  exclaimed. 
"It  has  an  unpleasant  connotation  for  me.  But 
I  will  let  you  cross-examine  me.  Or,  perhaps, 
you  will  let  me  tell  you  what  I  know." 

"By  all  means.  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you." 

"Well,  then,  Mademoiselle  Mishka,  you  will 
190 


THE    DEVIL 

have  to  begin  all  over  again.  The  Devil  in  art, 
the  Devil  in  literature,  it  is  misunderstanding 
and  misrepresentation  from  beginning  to  end. 
I  don't  mind  the  legends  of  the  saints  and  their 
supposed  victories, — that  was  not  literature, 
but  propaganda:  the  end  justifies  the  means, 
and  one  could  fight  them.  But  when  it  comes 
to  secular  literature,  to  works  of  the  human 
imagination,  well,  we  see  a  sorry  mess. 
Dante,  Marlowe,  Milton,  Bunyan,  Goethe, 
Byron — believe  me,  they  didn't  know  what  they 
were  talking  about.  I  don't  speak  of  the  medi- 
eval stage,  on  which  the  Devil  always  got  the 
worst  of  it,  in  coarsest  ribaldry;  nobody  reads 
those  things  nowadays.  But  those  others,  how 
they  have  misrepresented  .  .  .  him. 

"Then  there  is  that  story  of  the  apple.  One 
would  think  that  that  is  the  only  thing  the 
Devil  ever  did  for  woman.  Why,  he  is  handing 
her  apples  every  day — in  jewelry  shops  and  dry 
goods  emporiums,  in  garages  and  expensive 
restaurants,  and  yachts, — and  the  man  takes 
his  bite,  which  is  pleasant,  but  has  an  aftertaste 
of  a  bill  that  is  greater  than  his  resources. 
191 


THE    DEVIL 

"Has  the  Devil  not  tricked  man  into  working 
for  woman  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow?  And 
has  he  not  taught  him  to  work  ever  more  will- 
ingly and  hard?  Has  he  not  given  the  poor, 
simple  creature  his  compensations — alcohol, 
tobacco,  cards,  the  joy  of  brawling  and  fight- 
ing, over  women  by  preference,  but  over  every- 
thing else,  if  a  pretext  is  needed?  Has  he  not 
invented  the  games  of  high  finance,  of  over- 
reaching the  other  man,  of  diplomacy  and  con- 
quest? 

"Why,  the  Devil  is  the  benefactor  of  man- 
kind. Has  not  every  forward  step  of  the  race 
been  ascribed  to  him?  Is  not  vaccination 
acknowledged  to  be  his  work  to  this  day  in 
England  ?  Has  he  not  made  woman  what  she  is, 
after  the  dark  age  of  her  enslavement?" 

"You  say  strange  things,  Dr.  Nicholas." 

"Oh,  I  get  indignant  whenever  I  think  of  it. 
In  Goethe  the  Devil  changes  himself  into  a 
poodle.  Why,  I  ask  you,  why?  In  Gounod's 
Faust  he  gives  himself  away  by  causing  wine  to 
pour  out  of  a  signboard.  Is  that  common 
sense?  In  Bo'ito's  opera  he  gyrates  like  an  Irish 

192 


THE    DEVIL 

policeman  throwing  the  hammer  at  an  athletic 
festival,  and  in  Berlioz's  he  goes  around  looking 
as  if  he  had  just  buried  a  dictatorial  mother- 
in-law  and  knew  that  his  wife  was  watching 
the  expression  of  his  face.  It  is  sad. 

"Then  that  fellow  Ben  Jonson,  with  his  'The 
Devil  Is  an  Ass*  .  .  .  oh,  I  lose  all  patience. 
It  is  rank  ingratitude." 

Dr.  Nicholas  smiled  to  himself. 

"Let  yours  be  the  task  of  rehabilitating  the 
Devil,  Mademoiselle.  Historians  are  doing  this 
for  so  many  of  his  subjects.  Nero  has  been 
proved  to  have  been  quite  a  respectable  per- 
sonage, and  now  Lucrezia  Borgia  is  out  on 
bail." 

"Out  on  bail!" 

"Yes.  She  had  been  perfectly  happy  where 
she  was  for  nearly  four  hundred  years,  when 
along  came  a  German  who  proved  that  she  had 
been  quite  a  domestic,  respectable  body.  A 
firm  of  smart,  pushing  criminal  lawyers  applied 
for  a  new  trial  on  the  ground  of  this  new  evi- 
dence, and  there  you  are.  Lucrezia  was  very 
angry  about  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

193 


THE    DEVIL 

"How  strangely  you  talk,"  repeated  the  fair 
Mishka,  who  was  beginning  to  be  frightened. 

"I  give  you  new  ideas  for  your  book?  Man- 
kind is  always  afraid  of  new  ideas,  they  are  the 
Devil's — at  first.  When  they  have  become 
familiar,  others  claim  the  credit.  You  have  hit 
upon  one  of  my  hobbies,  and  I  am  galloping  it 
along  the  road." 

"There  is  a  contemporary  author  who  has 
put  the  Devil  into  a  book.  What  do  you  think 
of  him?" 

"You  mean  George  Bernard  Shaw,  of  course. 
Well,  you  know,  Mr.  Shaw  does  not  love  me — 
Dr.  Nicholas,  you  understand?" 

"Then  you  know  him  personally?" 

"Oh  yes.    I  have  met  him  several  times." 

"But  why  does  he  not  like  you?" 

"I  caught  him  studying  Schopenhauer  and 
Nietzsche  on  the  sly." 

"Oh!    But  what  about  his  Devil?" 

"Well,  he  talks  like  an  advanced  thinker  at  a 
Sunrise  Club  dinner." 

"Again  I  do  not  understand,  but  what  you 
have  said  to  me  is  very  interesting.  You  have 

194 


THE    DEVIL 

given  me  new  thoughts — and  I  am  not  afraid 
of  them." 

"The  only  Devil  in  literature  who  approaches 
the  truth,"  proffered  Doctor  Nicholas,  deter- 
mined to  put  an  end  to  the  conversation,  "is 
St.  Anthony's." 

"But,"  he  continued  slowly,  "St.  Anthony  did 
not  tell  the  story  right.  There  were  no  wit- 
nesses, you  will  remember,  and  .  .  .  well,  in  his 
account  he  turned  defeat  into  a  victory  ..." 

"Sir!"  said  the  historian,  rising  precipitately, 
and  haughtily  stalking  away. 

"Good  work,  good  work,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas 
to  himself,  rubbing  his  hands.  "I  hope  I  shall 
be  left  alone  now  to  look  after  my  own  little 
affairs  ...  Oh  no,  here  is  the  Countess. 

"May  I  have  the  honor  of  conducting  you 
to  the  supper  room?"  he  asked  gallantly,  the 
lady's  escort  dropping  her  arm  with  a  bow,  and 
respectfully  withdrawing  from  the  exalted 
presence. 

"No,  thank  you,"  laughed  the  American.  "I 
have  just  come  from  there.  You  know,  I  skated 
all  morning,  and  this  afternoon  I  went  tobog- 
195 


THE    DEVIL 

ganing,  and  now  I  am  dancing.  ...  It  gives 
one  an  appetite." 

"Ah,  yes;  youth,  good  health,  high  spirits, 
comfort.  .  .  .  Why  should  you  not  be  happy, 
and — have  a  good  appetite.  Will  you  talk  to 
me  a  little?  Let  us  sit  out  this  dance." 

"I  am  engaged  for  it.  But,  of  course,  since 
you  command.  .  .  .  There  is  my  partner,  look- 
ing at  me  in  much  perplexity." 

She  gaily  waved  a  dismissal  with  her  fan, 
and  sat  down. 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  America,  Dr.  Nich- 
olas?" she  began. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  have  paid  the  country  several 
visits." 

"And  do  you  like  it?" 

"Weil,  no.  I  go  there  as  little  as  possible. 
My  interests  there  are  large  enough,  but  they 
are  of  a  simple  nature,  they  run  themselves,  so 
to  speak." 

"But  why  do  you  not  like  America?" 

"Well,  it  lacks  gaiety.  The  people  are  not 
to  my  liking.  They  are  too  simple,  psycholog- 
ically speaking." 

196 


THE    DEVIL 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  do  not  understand." 

"Let  me  try  to  make  myself  clear.  If  I  said 
just  now  that  the  Americans  are  simple  psy- 
chologically, I  must  explain  a  little.  They  are 
daring  criminals,  but  timid  sinners." 

"And  for  that  reason  you  do  not  like  the 
people?" 

"Well,  you  see,  it  makes  life  there  flat.  The 
crimes  are  all  financial,  commercial,  and  politi- 
cal— most  uninteresting.  They  go  on  auto- 
matically, unconsciously  almost.  But  there  are 
no  pretty  frothy  sins  that  give  life  color  and 
surface  joy,  and  depth  below  it,  in  this  part  of 
the  world." 

"I  fail  to  see  your  reasoning." 

"Over  there  they  do  too  much,  and  feel  too 
little.  The  man's  morality  is  woman's  morality 
— sexual  morality.  On  that  point  they  are  in- 
corruptible, but  ethically  they  are  confused. 
What  the  rest  of  the  world  considers  man's 
province — civic  morality,  I  might  call  it, — they 
consider  of  minor  importance." 

"But  the  Devil  is  at  work  there?" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  may  be  sure  that  he  neglects 
197 


THE    DEVIL 

no  part  of  this  world.  Only,  he  need  not  pay 
much  attention  to  his  affairs  in  your  country. 
As  I  have  said,  they  go  on  automatically,  and 
they  grow  as  they  go  on.  Oh,  yes,  the  Devil's 
American  ledger  must  be  well  filled." 

"But  only  with  the  names  of  financiers,  and 
politicians,  and  the  like?" 

"Only  with  those.  I  often  wonder  how  he 
will  place  them  when  they  get  there.  They  can 
hardly  interest  Csesar,  or  Napoleon,  or  Frede- 
rick, or  Voltaire,  or  Robespierre." 

The  Countess  looked  wearied.  This  kind  of 
talk — it  was  very  clever,  no  doubt — did  not 
interest  her.  Moreover,  she  suspected  that  it 
was  rather  irreverent,  if  not  positively  blas- 
phemous. Also,  she  was  a  loyal  daughter  of 
the  Republic,  notwithstanding  her  title. 

"But  you  like  our  social  life?"  she  asked, 
changing  the  current  of  the  conversation  a 
little. 

"It  is  very  brilliant,  but  it  lacks  something. 
It  is  all  women,  and  very  few  men,  and  the  very 
few  men  are  not  your  best,  your  ablest,  your 
master  minds.  They  are  too  busy." 

198 


THE    DEVIL 

"Is  there  anything  in  America  that  has  Your 
Highness's  august  approval?" 

"I  admire  your  women,  your  clubs  are  models 
for  the  world  to  copy,  you  have  brought  the 
material  comforts  of  life  to  a  state  of  perfec- 
tion unapproachable  elsewhere,  but  you  try  to 
live  by  the  intellect  alone;  you  neglect  your 
emotional  selves,  and  thereby  lose  the  best  part 
of  life." 

"Thank  you  for  my  country.  Here  comes  the 
architect  of  this  palace.  I  suggested  all  the 
modern  improvements,  you  know — electric  light 
and  ranges,  porcelain-lined  bath  tubs,  nickel- 
plated  showers  and  needle  baths,  hot  water 
heat,  elevators, — all  the  material  comforts  you 
admire  so  much."  To  herself  she  added,  "And 
you  are  not  the  first  rude  Royal  Highness  I 
have  met." 

"Is  not  that  Mademoiselle  Toth  with  the  arch- 
itect?" asked  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  unconventional  heiress.  She 
and  I  are  great  cronies.  We  understand  each 
other.  She  should  live  in  New  York." 

"Will  you  present  us?" 
199 


THE    DEVIL 

"With  pleasure.  I  obey  a  command.  But," 
she  added,  flashing  upon  him  her  brilliant  smile, 
which  disarmed  resentment,  "you  must  prom- 
ise not  to  be  rude  to  her.  It  would  distress 
her.  We  Americans  know  deep  down  in  our 
hearts,  even  while  we  play  the  game  and  are 
anxious  to  get  into  it,  that  all  this  business  of 
titles  and  insurmountable  social  barriers  is  tot- 
tering to  its  end.  We  don't  care,  so  long  as  it 
lasts  our  time.  But  to  her  you  are  very  real, 
to  be  taken  with  portentous  seriousness.  With 
all  her  emancipation,  she  is  only  a  European 
girl  of  the  middle  classes,  after  all." 

"I  promise  that  I  will  be  as  charming  to  her 
as  I  know  how.  Like  all  the  world,  I  am  the 
servant  of  an  American  woman." 

"Now  you  are  nice,  quite  suddenly." 

Vilma  approached  slowly,  listless,  preoccupied. 
Sandor  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  her  interest  in 
the  brilliancy  of  the  evening  had  died  out. 

"Vilma,"  said  the  Countess,  "Dr.  Nicholas 
desires  very  much  to  know  you.  Monsieur 
Erdod,  come  and  show  me  the  picture  gallery. 
I  haven't  seen  it  since  it  was  finished." 

200 


THE    DEVIL 

She  dropped  a  curtsey,  with  a  touch  of  mock- 
ery in  its  depth,  took  the  delighted  architect's 
arm,  and  moved  rapidly  away,  her  laughter 
floating  up.  She  brought  gaiety  with  her  wher- 
ever she  went. 

"Mademoiselle  Toth,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  "I 
know  that  you  have  kept  this  quadrille  open — 
for  me,  do  let  me  believe  it.  Will  you  do  me  the 
pleasure  of  sitting  it  out  with  me?" 

"You  do  not  wish  to  dance?" 

"I  prefer  a  duet — with  you — to  a  quadrille." 

He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  piloted  her  skil- 
fully along  the  walls  of  the  ball-room,  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  bowing  and  moving  sets,  to  the 
entrance  of  the  conservatory.  On  the  broad 
landing  at  the  top  of  its  short  flight  of  marble 
steps  they  stopped  a  moment.  Then  Dr.  Nich- 
olas said: 

"Let  us  sit  down  over  there.  We  can  watch 
this  entrance  there,  and  chat  comfortably." 

Vilma  settled  herself  in  one  of  the  little 
chairs,  placed  her  fan  upon  the  table  beside  her, 
and  looked  across  it  at  her  companion. 


201 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE     DEVIL'S  PAWNS 

"TELL  me,"  began  Vilma,  with  admiration, 
"why  you  have  been  so  disagreeable  to  people 
to-night?  They  are  all  talking  about  it.  You 
see,  I  am  unconventional.  I  tell  you  right  out. 
And  yet  you  can  be  very  pleasant,  as  you  are 
now." 

"And  you  are  curious?" 

"Why,  yes.  You  must  have  done  this  delib- 
erately." 

"I  have.  You  see,  I  have  set  myself  the  task 
of  being  alone  this  evening,  because  I  have 
something  to  accomplish.  Now,  if  I  made  my- 
self agreeable,  I'd  be  surrounded.  If  I  said 
nothing,  all  the  old  fogies — the  men  who  don't 
dance  and  can't  talk — would  invite  me  to  si1 
with  them  in  silence  and  smoke  more  than  is 
good  for  them,  or  for  me.  So  what  remained 
but  to  make  myself  as  disagreeable  as  possible? 
202 


THE    DEVIL 

I   have   isolated   myself — a   splendid   isolation 
since  I  share  it  with  you." 

"Then  I  shall  not  interfere  with  your  pur- 
pose?" 

"Quite  the  contrary.  You  are  to  play  a  part 
in  its  accomplishment." 

"You  are  an  old  friend  of  Sandor?" 

"A  very  old  friend.  I  am  fond  of  him,  and 
I  expect  great  things  from  him.  In  fact,  I  am 
trying  to  set  him  in  the  right  path,  faced  in  the 
right  direction.  I  even  flatter  myself  that  I 
have  made  a  good  beginning." 

"Has  it  something  to  do  with — with  his  mar- 
riage?" 

"Somewhat." 

"Then  I  know  your  purpose.  You  are  in  the 
secret,  too." 

"Perhaps  I  am,  and  yet  my  secret  may  not  be 
yours." 

"Let  us  get  this  straight.  They  call  me 
the  impudent  Vilma,  you  know.  I  say  what 
I  think,  whenever  and  wherever  I  think 
of  it." 

"And  nobody  believes  you?" 
203 


THE    DEVIL 

"No,  they  believe  that  it  is  all  pose." 

"Of  course,  a  woman  who  says  what  she 
thinks,  even  when  she  is  not  angry.  It  must 
be  bewildering." 

"I  mean  to  be  bewildering." 

"But  it  is  not  fair.  One  expects  a  woman 
to  tell  little  lies  occasionally.  That  is  the  charm 
of  her  uncertainty;  it  keeps  one  guessing.  To 
tell  the  truth  always  is  just  as  futile  as  to  lie 
always.  In  neither  case  will  you  achieve  your 
purpose.  Either  acquire  a  reputation  for  truth- 
fulness, and  then  fib  whenever  it  suits  your  con- 
venience, or  establish  a  reputation  for  men- 
dacity, and  then  upset  them  by  telling  the 
truth." 

"You  are  leading  away  from  the  subject  of 
our  conversation." 

"Is  not  that  a  woman's  way  of.  arriving  at 
what  she  wishes  to  say?" 

"You  think  you  know  my  secret,  but  you  do 
not.  I  know  yours."  \ 

"What  is  this  secret  of  mine?" 

"When  I  say  yours,  I  don't  mean  you  alone. 
I  mean  you  and  Jolan  and  Sandor.  You  see,  I 
204 


THE    DEVIL 

am  the  girl  to  whom  he  is  to  propose  to-night. 
Jolan  has  managed  it,  and  you  are  trying  to 
help  it  along  now." 

"But  .  .  . 

"This  is  my  secret,  and  it  puts  an  end  to 
yours.  I  know  everything — everything,  you 
understand  ?  I  know  what  is  going  on." 

"I  understand." 

"So,"  continued  Vilma  with  rising  excite- 
ment, "I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  nobody's 
dupe.  If  I  accept  him,  it  is  with  my  eyes  wide 
open.  I  know  what  has  been  going  on  for 
several  years." 

"But  why  do  you  say  all  this  to  me?" 

"Am  I  not  telling  you?  Are  you  not  one  of 
the  conspirators,  do  you  not  believe  that  I  am 
blind  ?  Oh,  I'll  marry  him,  indeed  I  will,  and  I 
shall  know  what  I  have  to  do  after  that." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"Whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  I  will  marry 
him — knowing  all." 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas 
soothingly,  "you  have  honored  me  with  your 
confidence.  Now  let  me  say  a  word:  Nothing 
205 


THE    DEVIL 

will  come  of  all  this  planning  and  plotting. 
You'll  never  marry  Sandor." 

"Why  do  you  speak  so  confidently?" 

"Because,  I  confess  it,  I  know  the  true 
inwardness  of  this  matchmaking  game,  but  I 
doubt  if  you  do,  though  you  say  so,  because,  if 
you  did,  you  would  not  wish  to  marry  him." 

Vilma  began  to  show  increasing  signs  of 
nervous  tension.  She  plucked  at  the  tips  of 
her  gloves,  tapped  her  little  feet  on  the  sanded 
floor,  and  winked  her  eyes.  Dr.  Nicholas 
reached  into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  pro- 
duced the  daintiest  of  jewelled  gold  vanity 
cases,  and  opened  it  on  his  knee. 

"If  I  knew,  I  would  not  wish  to  marry  him?" 
repeated  the  girl.  "Why,  that's  just  my  secret." 

"What  is  the  use  of  beating  around  the 
bush?"  she  continued,  speaking  rapidly.  "I 
know  very  well  that  he  is  in  love  with  another 
woman — I  will  not  name  her, — and  that  she 
has  made  this  match  for  him,  to  ensure  her  own 
safety,  perhaps  to  shield  herself  behind  our 
friendship." 

The  tears  were  trickling  down  her  cheeks, 
206 


THE    DEVIL 

try  as  she  might  to  control  them.  Dr.  Nicholas 
reached  into  the  vanity  case,  and  produced  a 
tiny  handkerchief.  Handing  it  to  her,  he  said : 

"Permit  me  to  give  you  this  first  aid  to  the 
injured.  I  always  carry  this  case  with  me 
when  I  go  into  the  society  of  ladies.  There  is 
everything  needful." 

"How  thoughtful  of  you.  I  suppose  that  it  is 
quite  a  usual  thing  for  you  to  make  women 
weep." 

"It  is  my  aim  always  to  comfort  and  console 
them." 

Vilma  dabbed  nervously  at  her  eyes,  and 
tried  to  get  control  of  her  shaking  voice. 

"When  we  are  on  my  honeymoon,"  she  con- 
tinued, staccato,  "I  shall  know  that  he's  think- 
ing of  her  while  he  is  making  love  to  me.  .  .  . 
I  don't  care.  ...  I  know  what  I  am  doing.  .  .  , 
Only,  I  don't  want  you  others  to  flatter  yourself 
that  you  have  hoodwinked  me,  that  you've 
tricked  me.  ...  I  have  my  own  plan,  and 
I  shall  succeed.  She  hasn't  counted  on 
that." 

"I  did  not  suppose  that  the  discussion  of  this 
207 


THE    DEVIL 

subject  would  excite  you  so  much,"  said  Dr. 
Nicholas,  handing  her  a  tiny  powder  puff  and 
a  small  mirror,  which  she  took  mechanically. 

"No  one  shall  laugh  at  me/'  continued  Vilma, 
making  vicious  dabs  at  her  nose  with  the  puff, 
and  peering  into  the  glass.  "Tell  her  that  I 
know,  and  that  I  will  make  him  love  me.  Now 
you  know  my  secret:  I  love  him  with  all  my 
heart,  with  all  my  soul!" 

Vilma  returned  the  powder  puff,  smoothed 
the  powder  on  her  nose  by  the  aid  of  the  hand- 
kerchief and  the  little  mirror,  handed  both  to 
Dr.  Nicholas,  whc  replaced  them  in  the  case, 
and  the  case  in  his  pocket,  and  said  with  per- 
fect self-possession, 

"So.  Now  you  know  my  secret.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"This  is  the  emancipated,  the  ultra-modern 
Vilma?"  asked  Dr.  Nicholas  with  astonishment. 

"No,  this  is  the  real  Vilma,"  she  returned 
promptly.  "I  chose  you  to  talk  to,  instead  of — 
her.  This  morning  I  was  a  young  girl,  to-night 
I  am  an  old  woman.  ...  I  have  thought  so 
much.  Dr.  Nicholas,  won't  you  be  my  friend? 

208 


THE    DEVIL 

I  have  been  defeated ;  I  hope  to  win  my  victory 
after,  not  before  marriage." 

"May  I  advise  you  ?" 

"Please  do." 

"Do  not  postpone  your  campaign  until  after- 
ward. You  must  take  up  the  fight  openly,  now, 
aggressively.  And  you  must  look  beautiful." 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

"You  must  fight  that  other  woman,  not  with 
her  weapons,  but  with  your  own.  You  have 
tried  to  imitate  the  greater  freedom  of  the  mar- 
ried woman  .  .  .  you  have  been  emancipated, 
free,  unconventional.  It  won't  do.  There  is  a 
barrier  which  you  dare  not  pass,  and  it  is  on 
the  further  side  of  it  that  the  married  woman's 
power  begins.  She  knows  that  power,  she  has 
used  it  before  upon  her  husband,  the  charm  of 
her  personality.  ...  I  am  treading  on  delicate 
ground." 

"Proceed." 

"You  are  sensible,  I  see.    For  a  young  girl  to 

adopt  the  married  woman's  tactics  spells  defeat 

— defeat  in  success,  defeat  in  failure.    I  am  a 

hardened  man  of  the  world,  but  I  must  say 

209 


THE    DEVIL 

that  the  emancipated  girl  never  has  that 
potency  of  influence  over  me  that  the  simplicity 
of  innocence  exerts.  It  attracts  me  ...  it 
holds  me,  it  rouses  in  me  an  irresistible  desire 
to  win  it.  Ah,  Mademoiselle  .  .  .  ' 

"No  nonsense,  please.  No  compliments;  I 
am  familiar  with  all  this  conservatory,  sit-out- 
dances  palaver." 

Dr.  Nicholas  sorrowfully  shook  his  head. 

"The  unconventional  Vilma  again,"  he  said. 
"Pray  let  me  proceed.  I  was  just  getting  to 
the  point  of  my  oration.  The  young  girl,  I  said, 
can  never  successfully  compete  with  the  mar- 
ried woman,  with  that  woman's  own  weapons. 
What  remains,  then?  A  power  far  greater 
which  she  has  lost,  which  she  can  no  more 
simulate  than  the  girl  can  hers — the  power  of 
maidenly  innocence/' 

"You  think  so  ?"  said  Vilma,  doubtingly.  She 
had  lived  with  her  eyes  wide  open. 

"I  know  it,  I  am  convinced  of  it.  Believe  me, 
all  men  are  alike  in  this.  Your  rival  is  freed 
from  certain  considerations  that  are  binding 
upon  you.  Your  plan  is  to  wait  until  your  mar- 

210 


THE    DEVIL 

riage  has  placed  you  upon  an  equality  with  her 
before  attempting  to  win  his  love?" 
"Yes,  that  was  my  plan." 
"Well,  fight  out  the  battle  beforehand.  Drop 
the  old  Vilma,  put  on  the  new.  Do  not  be  for- 
ward and  self-possessed,  do  not  parade  your 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Cast  down  your  eyes, 
be  timid.  Approach  with  troubled  misgiving 
this  lord  of  creation,  tremble  as  you  look  up  into 
his  eyes.  Let  him  feel  that  you  consider  him 
your  superior  in  wisdom,  in  experience,  in 
strength,  pretend  to  hide  but  imperfectly  your 
admiration  of  his  comeliness  and  his  talent. 
Sit  at  his  feet  and  worship,  then  get  up  and 
run  a  little  distance  away  from  the  fence,  lure 
him  away  from  it,  for  that  other  woman  stands 
on  the  other  side  singing  her  less  idyllic  siren 
song.  Retreat,  and  he  will  follow  until  he  is 
in  your  net." 

"I  do  not  like  it,"  said  Vilma,  disdainfully. 
"You  wish  to  win  him,  do  you  not?" 
"Yes,  oh  yes;  I  love  him  so  much!" 
"Then  follow  my  advice.    All's  fair  in  love 
and  war." 

211 


THE    DEVIL 

"And  it  will  work?  It  seems  to  me  so  trans- 
parent." 

"Man's  love  is  easiest  won  through  his  van- 
ity. When  his  vanity  is  appealed  to,  he  becomes 
credulous  as  a  child.  Why,"  added  Dr.  Nicho- 
las, growing  enthusiastic,  "with  this  recipe  of 
mine,  a  hideous  old  hag  could  have  coaxed  Don 
Juan  into  a  corner  from  which  he  could  not 
have  escaped,  not  even  with  the  aid  of  Leporello 
and  his  sword." 

At  this  moment,  Sandor  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  conservatory,  and  looked  down 
upon  them. 

"Shall  I  do  it?"  whispered  Vilma. 

"It  is  your  only  chance,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas, 
getting  up  as  Sandor  slowly  descended  the  steps 
and  approached  their  table.  "Ah,  Sandor,"  he 
continued,  "I  will  surrender  my  place  to  you, 
and  join  the  merry  throng  again." 

"Vilma,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  every- 
where," said  the  painter,  taking  the  seat  Dr. 
Nicholas  had  just  vacated. 

"I  have  been  searching  everywhere,"  he  con- 
tinued, looking  curiously  at  Vilma,  who  sat  on 

212 


THE    DEVIL 

the  edge  of  her  chair,  her  hands  in  her  lap,  her 
eyes  demurely  cast  down. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  in  a  small,  shy  voice. 

"Why  did  you  come  here?" 

"I  wanted  to  be  alone.  There  were  so  many 
people  in  there  it  confused  me." 

"But  you  have  been  to  many  balls,  and  you 
were  always  in  the  midst  of  the  romping  and 
the  fun." 

"But  .  .  .  but,  you  were  always  with  me  to 
look  after  me."  She  ventured  one  startled, 
fawn-like  look  at  him,  then  cast  down  her  eyes 
again.  "It  is  different,  somehow,  when  one  is 
with  a  man  whom  one  trusts,  and  who  knows 
what  is  the  right  thing  to  do." 

She  peered  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
downcast  eyes.  Had  she  gone  too  far,  she  won- 
dered, was  she  laying  it  on  a  little  too  heavily? 
But  no,  Sandor  was  staring  at  her  with  admir- 
ing eyes,  a  gratified  smile  upon  his  lips.  So  she 
continued,  in  the  same  modest  voice : 

"Who  is  this  Dr.  Nicholas?  He  said  that  he 
was  an  old  friend  of  yours.  He  was  very  kind 
to  me." 

213 


THE    DEVIL 

"He  is  a  chance  acquaintance  who  has  forced 
himself  upon  me.  A  queer  chap — I  consider 
him  a  neurasthenic  philosopher.  He  rendered 
me  an  important  service  long  ago,  so  I  straight- 
way forgot  him.  He  will  probably  render  me 
another  one,  and  then  I  shall  positively  loathe 
him." 

Vilma  gave  a  silvery  little  laugh.  "How 
clever  you  are,"  she  gurgled,  "and  so  cynical, 
and  you  mean  nothing  by  it." 

"You  are  changed  somehow,  Vilma,"  said  the 
enchanted  painter,  tenderly.  "So  different 
from  your  other  self,  the  hard,  self-possessed 
self  you  show  to  the  world." 

"How  I  loathe  it,  Sandor,"  confided  the  in- 
genuous lady,  entering  heartily  into  this  new 
game.  "You  know,  ever  since  I  was  a  little 
child  I  have  been  timid.  It  is  a  torture  to  me 
to  be  out  among  strangers,  to  meet  them,  to  talk 
to  them.  And  so  I  adopted  my  impudent  pose 
in  self-defence.  I  schooled  myself  to  be  orig- 
inal, independent,  emancipated,  but  oh,  often 
when  I  was  boldest  my  heart  was  in  my  mouth. 
It  is  such  a  relief  to  lay  aside  the  mask  with 
214 


THE    DEVIL 

you.  I  do  not  need  to  be  on  the  defensive 
against  you  any  longer.  .  .  .  You  are  so  mag- 
nanimous, so  strong." 

"And  you  have  hidden  your  real  self  from 
me  all  this  time,"  cried  the  enchanted  painter. 
"How  little  I  have  known  you,  and  how  much 
better  I  like  you  thus.  How  sweet  you  look, 
how  innocent." 

He  softly  placed  his  hand  over  her  fingers, 
resting  quietly  in  her  lap.  Vilma  snatched 
them  away  with  maidenly  confusion,  but  not 
before  Jolan  had  seen  the  tender  little  episode 
as  she  entered  the  conservatory  on  Dr.  Nich- 
olas's arm.  Involuntarily  her  hand  gave  a  little 
tug,  and  she  stopped  short.  The  Doctor  coughed 
discreetly. 

"Behold,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "the  realization 
of  your  dearest  wish." 

"My  dearest  wish.  Do  not  let  us  disturb 
them." 

"They  appear  to  be  too  much  interested  in 

the  color  of  each  other's  eyes  to  notice  us,"  Dr. 

Nicholas  rejoined.     "Now  for  a  four-cornered 

game  of  murderous  jealousy,"  he  said  to  him- 

215 


THE    DEVIL 

self — "Jolan  against  Vilma,  Sandor  against  me, 
and  the  victory  is  mine." 

"Let  us  sit  down  a  little  while,"  he  continued, 
half-aloud,  pointing  to  two  chairs  on  the  other 
side  of  the  conservatory,  under  a  far-spreading 
palm.  "It  won't  be  indiscreet.  We  both  know 
their  secret,  and  rejoice  over  the  result  of  your 
little  plan." 

They  softly  descended  the  steps,  and  sat 
down.  Jolan  would  have  gone  away,  but  some- 
thing within  her  forced  her  to  witness  this 
scene,  to  watch  the  sudden  intimacy  of  these 
two.  She  felt  profoundly  wretched.  Dr.  Nich- 
olas bent  forward  and  began  to  whisper,  giving 
to  their  attitude  an  air  of  mysterious  intimacy. 

"Jolan  is  over  there,"  said  Vilma  in  a  low 
tone. 

"I  have  already  paid  my  respects  to  her.  Do 
not  let  us  take  any  notice.  She  will  go  away 
again  in  a  little  while." 

"She  appears  to  be  deeply  interested  in  her 
escort,"  continued  Vilma.  "They  have  their 
heads  close  together,  and  are  whispering." 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

216 


THE    DEVIL 

"Yes,  it  is  that  friend  of  yours,  Dr.  Nicholas." 

Sandor  started,  but  restrained  himself,  and 
continued  to  pay  his  court,  mechanically,  absent- 
mindedly.  Vilma  observed  the  change  in  his 
demeanor,  and  her  heart  grew  bitter.  Still,  she 
played  her  new  part  with  increased  energy.  It 
would  never  do  to  give  up  so  soon. 

"How  becoming  that  blush  is  to  you,  Vilma." 

"You  thought  that  I  had  forgotten  how  to 
blush/'  she  whispered  sadly.  "Oh,  what  a 
wrong  impression  you  must  have  of  me." 

"I  never  misjudged  you,"  protested  the 
painter,  but  faintly.  He  took  up  her  fan,  and 
began  to  toy  with  it,  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 
The  attitude  brought  his  head  nearer  to  the 
girl.  He  knew  this,  and  assumed  it  on  pur- 
pose. Jolan  must  see  it.  He  was  straining 
his  ears  to  hear  what  these  other  two  were 
saying. 

"It  seems  that  they  have  found  each  other  at 
last"  whispered  Jolan. 

"Perhaps  so.  Does  it  affect  you  disagree- 
ably?" rejoined  Dr.  Nicholas,  looking  into  her 
troubled  eyes. 

217 


THE    DEVIL 

"Not  in  the  least.  On  the  contrary,  I  am 
glad  to  see  the  success  of  my  efforts." 

"Shall  we  move  farther  away?  He  may  wish 
to  speak  now.  .  .  .  We  may  hinder  him." 

"Let  us  stay  a  little  longer.  It  is  quiet  here, 
and  cool,  and  I  am  very  tired." 

"They  are  speaking  about  us,"  whispered 
Vilma,  in  her  corner. 

"Let  them  talk.  What  are  they  to  us  ...  to- 
night?" 

"Why  do  you  constantly  try  to  look  at  them, 
then?" 

"Do  I?    I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

Jolan  grew  fidgetty.  Jealousy  bade  her  stay, 
her  pride  commanded  her  to  go.  But — Sandor 
would  propose  if  she  went. 

"So  you  came  after  all,"  she  said  playfully  to 
Dr.  Nicholas.  "I  had  hoped  that  you  would  be 
prevented.  I  am  always  saying  rude  things  to 
you,  but  you  provoke  them." 

"I  came  for  a  purpose.  This  afternoon 
I  undertook  to  accomplish  something.  My 
pride  was  involved,  and  now  my  feelings 
are." 

218 


THE    DEVIL 

"What  is  this  purpose?  I  have  felt  all  along 
that  your  coming  was  not  an  idle  accident." 

"I  hardly  dare  to  tell  you." 

Jolan  became  interested.  This  mysterious 
man  was  a  puzzle  to  her. 

"You  will  not  be  angry?  Well,  then,  I  told 
someone  that  I  would  turn  your  head  to-night." 

She  laughed,  scornfully  yet  uneasily. 

"To  whom  did  you  make  this  amazing  state- 
ment?" 

"To  Sandor." 

"To  Sandor?  And  what  did  he  say?  Did  he 
allow  you  to  say  it  all?" 

"He  acted  in  a  way  that  astonished  me.  But 
I  cannot  explain  just  now.  You  might  be 
offended,  angrier  with  him  even  than  you  must 
be  with  me." 

"I  am  not  offended  with  you,  only  amazed, 
and — heartily  disgusted.  You  have  gone  too 
far.  Men  speak  lightly  of  women,  I  know,  but 
to  confess  it  to  them  afterward.  ...  I  am  sure 
that  Sandor  said  or  did  nothing  to  offend  me. 
He  knew  what  was  the  proper  thing  to  say 
and  do." 

219 


THE    DEVIL 

Here  Sandor  bent  forward,  and  again  touched 
Vilma's  hand. 

"Why  are  you  constantly  looking  at  them?" 
asked  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"Am  I  ?  I  was  not  aware  of  it.  He  certainly 
is  taken  with  her." 

"Your  eyes  are  sombre  like  brooding  vol- 
canoes," said  Dr.  Nicholas,  with  low  intensity, 
"there  is  in  them  a  power  of  consuming  fury,  a 
promise  of  all-compelling  love.  Should  the 
right  man  kiss  your  eyelids,  you  might  awake 
to  the  glory  of  passion ;  should  a  woman  thwart 
you,  they  might  flash  destruction.  But  alas, 
you  will  never  be  awakened  by  that  kiss.  And 
the  promise  will  die  out  in  your  eyes.  You 
will  be  a  respected,  honored,  middle-aged 
wife  who  has  never  known  love — the  ecstasy 
of  giving  and  taking  all  that  is  best  in 
life." 

"You  presume  upon  your  position  as  my 
guest,  perhaps  upon  your  rank.  You  must  not 
talk  to  me  like  that." 

"I  am  the  spirit  that  denies  the  empty  con- 
ventionalities which  fetter  the  souls  that  would 

220 


THE    DEVIL 

soar  aloft.  I  destroy  them,  I  encourage  the 
timid  to  be  daring,  the  shackled  to  wrench 
themselves  free,  the  slaves  of  fate  to  make  them- 
selves its  masters." 

"Your  oratory  is  strange,  it  sounds  ominous. 
Again  I  ask  you,  Who  are  you  ?" 

"I  must  preserve  my  incognito.  .  .  .  There, 
Sandor  has  touched  her  hand  again.  Her  hour 
is  coming,  yours  is  passing — and  his." 

"How  sweet  you  are  to-night,"  Sandor  was 
whispering;  "so  gentle  and  demure.  You,  al- 
ways so  independent,  make  me  feel  as  if  you 
clung  to  me." 

"I  do,  Sandor.  I  have  always  relied  upon 
your  strength,  your  cleverness — in  secret.  Oh, 
what  have  I  said?  So  bold,  so  forward  a 
thing!" 

"It  does  not  sound  forward  from  your  lips, 
Vilma.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  suspected  this  real 
self  of  yours  sooner — if  only  .  .  ." 

The  painter  was  succeeding  better  again  in 

his   courtship.     His   attention,   distracted   for 

a  while  by  the  unseen  doings  of  the  two  behind 

his  back,  by  jealous  anxiety  and  apprehension, 

221 


THE    DEVIL 

had  returned  to  Vilma,  under  the  soothing 
touch  of  her  adroit  demureness. 

"You  never  sought  me  out,  Sandor.  It  was 
I  who  always  made  you  my  partner.  I  was 
afraid  that  a  young  girl  would  bore  you.  I 
tried  to  be  bold,  impudent,  amusing,  and  now 
you  tell  me  that  you  disliked  it.  A  young  girl 
knows  so  little  of  the  world.  She  must  grope 
her  way." 

Sandor  was  touched.  He  sat  up,  squared  his 
shoulders,  and  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  the 
question  that  would  decide  his  fate.  .  .  .  Dr. 
Nicholas's  laugh  reached  him,  low  but  trium- 
phant. "Then  you  consent?"  he  heard  him  say. 
"This  is  more  than  good  of  you,  it  is  generous." 

The  words  rang  in  Sander's  ears.  Their 
meaning  he  could  not  know,  but  he  jumped  at  a 
conclusion.  Rage  overmastered  him,  and  the 
impulse  to  snatch  Jolan  from  him,  to  take  her 
away,  beyond  his  reach.  He  stumbled  in  the 
speech  he  had  begun,  whose  intent  Vilma  had 
fully  grasped,  the  moment  its  opening  word 
was  spoken,  stammered,  and,  in  the  torture  of 
his  suspicion,  repeated  Dr.  Nicholas's  words.  .  . 

222 


THE    DEVIL 

"She  consents !" 

Vilma  rose,  pale  to  the  lips,  trembling  like  a 
leaf. 

"Take  me  into  the  ball-room,"  she  commanded 
proudly.  "I  have  promised  the  next  dance." 

"But  .  .  .  but,"  stumbled  the  painter,  his 
brain  still  in  a  whirl,  only  dimly  realizing  what 
he  had  done,  "but  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  Won't  you 
stay  a  little  longer?  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
most  earnestly." 

"You  desire  to  listen  most  earnestly."  Vil- 
ma's  self-possession  gave  way.  "I  will  not  dis- 
tract your  eaves  -  dropping  attention  any 
longer." 

She  swept  past  him  towards  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  Sandor  following  her  in  a  daze.  Jolan, 
too,  had  risen,  and  met  the  couple  before  they 
had  mounted  the  first  step.  The  three  stood 
together,  agitated.  Dr.  Nicholas  remained  a 
little  in  the  background,  his  left  elbow  sup- 
ported by  his  right  hand,  his  left  hand  caress- 
ing his  long  chin,  his  face  alert.  His  eyes  shone 
with  repressed  excitement. 

Jolan  glared  at  Vilma,  who  stared  back  cold- 
223 


THE    DEVIL 

ly,  disdainfully.  An  outbreak  was  imminent, 
the  irreparable  outburst  of  two  jealous  women, 
throwing  to  the  winds  all  prudence,  all  the  safe- 
guards of  breeding  and  tradition,  all  the  dis- 
guises and  compromises  and  pretenses  that 
make  possible  the  dwelling  together  in  safety 
of  men  and  women.  Two  children  of  nature 
they  had  become,  beneath  their  modern  finery; 
millenniums  of  slow  progress  upward  had  been 
torn  from  them  by  the  fury  of  a  primeval 
instinct  stronger  nearly  always  in  such  crises 
than  is  the  other  guiding  influence  of  life,  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation. 

"I  saw  them  thus  in  their  caves,  thousands 
of  years  ago;  I  shall  see  them  thus  thousands 
of  years  hence,"  mused  Dr.  Nicholas.  "They 
never  will  get  away  from  savagery  so  long  as 
man  is  man  and  woman  is  woman." 

He  was  impartial  now.  His  end  was  gained. 
So  he  stood  by,  an  idle  spectator. 

Jolan's  eyes  were  the  first  to  fall.    Centuries 

of  training  along  certain  lines  of  thought,  of 

acceptance  of  certain  conventions,  did  tell,  after 

all.    She  had  no  right  to  this  man  in  the  eyes  of 

224 


THE    DEVIL 

the  world.  Yet  it  was  not  surrender,  merely 
a  deferring  of  the  struggle  for  the  sake  of 
appearances. 

"Are  you  not  dancing?"  she  asked  sweetly. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  hate  dancing,"  replied 
Vilma  with  superb  self-possession.  "But  to- 
night I  mean  to  dance  until  dawn,  to  enjoy 
myself  every  moment  that  is  left,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  that  there  are  people  who 
hate  to  see  me  happy." 

Then,  turning  to  Sandor  with  an  imperious 
turn  of  the  body,  she  said : 

"Take  me  to  the  ball-room,  Sandor."  Con- 
sulting her  card,  she  added,  "this  dance  is 
yours.  I  do  not  wish  to  miss  that  mazurka." 

Slowly,  with  dignity,  she  mounted  the  marble 
stairs,  one  by  one,  unfaltering,  though  her 
knees  trembled  and  her  nerves  threatened  to 
give  way.  Not  once  did  she  look  back,  her  lit- 
tle head  held  high  on  the  slender  column  of  her 
neck,  her  bare  shoulders  carried  proudly,  every 
inch  of  her  graceful  figure  betokening  her 
knowledge  that  for  this  brief  moment  the  vic- 
tory was  hers. 

225 


THE    DEVIL 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  took  Sander's 
arm,  and  entered  the  ball-room.  They  saw  her 
stoop  to  pick  up  her  train,  and  whirl  away  in 
his  arms,  with  a  word  and  a  smile  upon  her 
lips. 


226 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DEVIL'S   MANTLE 

THE  moment  Vilma  had  been  swallowed  up 
by  the  gracefully  whirling  mass  of  white  under 
the  tranquil  shimmer  of  the  sea  of  light,  Jolan 
turned  to  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"Did  you  hear?"  she  asked  excitedly.  "She 
must  feel  pretty  sure  of  her  position  when  she 
speaks  to  me  in  that  way." 

And  she  added,  the  new  thought  breaking 
the  last  bonds  of  her  reserve: 

"Sandor  has  fallen  in  love  with  her." 

"Can  that  be  possible?"  said  Dr.  Nicholas. 
"I  cannot  believe  it  after  what  happened  this 
afternoon.  No,  it  is  impossible." 

"What  happened?" 

The  question  was  imploring,  and  command- 
ing at  the  same  time. 

"A  little  while  ago  I  was  afraid  to  tell  you. 
227 


THE    DEVIL 

I  hesitate  now  more  than  ever.  You  spoke  very 
severely  to  me.  I  admit  that  I  deserved  it. 
No,  it  is  better  not  to  tell  you." 

"But  I  have  a  right  to  know.  This  .  .  .  this, 
I  am  in  a  confusion,  an  uncertainty  that  is  kill- 
ing me." 

"Well,  then.  You  will  understand  that  I  have 
the  best  motives,  that  I  only  wish  to  be  of 
service,  to  straighten  out  this  tangle  into  which 
I  have  been  drawn  by  accident?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  impatiently. 

"When  I  told  him  this  afternon  that  .  .  ." 

"That  you  intended  to  make  love  to  me?" 

"That  I  intended  to  make  love  to  you,  he  ... 
tried  to  kill  me." 

"He  tried  to  kill  you!" 

Jolan  said  this  joyously.  Her  face  became 
transfigured,  her  eyes  shone. 

"Sandor  tried  to  kill  you!" 

She  repeated  the  words  with  passionate  fond- 
ness and  an  exultation  of  pride.  Dr.  Nicholas 
grinned.  He  saw  that  he  had  suddenly  risen  in 
this  woman's  estimation  because  he  had  forced 
the  man  she  loved  to  this  barbaric  confession  of 
228 


THE    DEVIL 

his  passion.  He  enjoyed  the  humor  of  the  situ- 
ation, and  tried  to  prolong  it. 

"He  took  my  own  revolver  away  from  me," 
he  continued,  and  "tried  to  shoot  me  with  it." 

Softly,  ecstatically,  staring  far  away  at  some 
vision  of  bliss,  Jolan  repeated: 

"He  tried  to  kill  him,  for  my  sake!" 

"With  my  own  revolver,  with  six  barrels,  all 
loaded,"  prompted  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"With  his  own  revolver,  with  six  barrels,  all 
loaded,"  she  repeated  with  mechanical  docility. 
Then,  in  an  outburst  of  ecstatic  admiration,  she 
cried : 

"How  noble  of  him!" 

Dr.  Nicholas  could  not  help  it.  He  turned 
aside,  and  winked  solemnly,  slowly,  at  an  olean- 
der bush. 

Jolan 's  mind  suddenly  reverted  from  this 
dramatic  revelation  of  what  happened  that 
afternoon  to  what  she  had  seen  that  evening 
but  a  moment  ago. 

"This  afternoon  he  wanted  to  kill  him,"  she 
wailed,  "for  my  sake.  And  just  now  he  did  not 
care  when  I  sat  here  whispering  to  him.  Do 
229 


THE    DEVIL 

what  I  would,  he  paid  no  attention.    Oh,  he  has 
fallen  in  love  with  her,  suddenly,  insanely!" 

"There  you  are,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  in  a 
grieved  tone  of  voice.  "Suppose  he  had  killed 
me,  what  a  mess  we  all  should  be  in  at  this 
moment!  Is  it  ever  worth  while  to  kill  a  man 
for  the  sake  of  a  woman?" 

Jolan  suddenly  recovered  her  senses,  and  in- 
stinctively put  on  again  the  social  mask  that  she 
had  dropped. 

"He  tried  to  kill  you  because  he  respects  me. 
You,  no  doubt,  said  things  .  .  .  Well,  I  am 
grateful  to  him,  my  knight!" 

She  made  a  dismissing  gesture  of  the  hand, 
and  added,  but  without  conviction: 

"I  hope  that  he  will  be  happy  with  her.  He 
certainly  loves  her  very  much." 

"Does  he?" 

"Does  he  not?"  She  grasped  at  the  doubt 
with  pitiful  eagerness. 

"It  is  interesting  to  see  how  exercised  you 
are  because  your  favorite  plan  appears  to  be 
successful.  You  affirm  and  deny  in  the  same 
breath.' 

830 


THE    DEVIL 

"You  unsettle  my  mind  with  your  insinuat- 
ing doubts.  Don't  you  believe  that  I  have  suc- 
ceeded?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Madame  Voross,  because  I 
am  not  aware  of  what  success  you  really  desire. 
Do  you  know  yourself?  Do  you  really  wish  him 
to  love  her?" 

"What  is  this  you  mean?" 

"I  am  a  disinterested  spectator,  trying  to 
help  things  along.  By  way  of  reward  I  receive 
nothing  but  abuse  and  suspicion  of  my  motives. 
Ah,  yes,  the  way  of  the  peacemaker!" 

"What  did  you  mean  just  then?  You  do  not 
believe  that  Sandor  has  fallen  in  love  with 
Vilma?" 

Dr.  Nicholas  took  a  resolution.  Looking 
straight  at  Jolan,  he  said  in  that  clear,  incisive 
way  of  his : 

"Let  us  clear  the  atmosphere — let  us  put  all 
the  cards  on  the  table,  a  proceeding  which  a 
woman  always  suspects.  This  afternoon  he 
tried  to  kill  me  in  a  transport  of  fury  because 
I  had  said  that  I  intended  to  make  love  to 
you." 

231 


THE    DEVIL 

"Yes." 

"You  say  it  is  respect.  The  shots  that  are 
fired  out  of  respect  are  fired  from  the  cannon 
of  a  visiting  fleet  and  a  welcoming  fort,  not 
from  a  six-shooter  wrested  from  the  hand  of 
a  man  unprepared  for  the  onslaught.  I  say  it 
is  love!" 

"But  then,  did  we  not  see  him  just  now?" 

"We  did  see  him  just  now,  but  you  did  not 
see  him  this  afternoon.  I  did.  I  have  reason 
to  remember.  It  was  love,  I  tell  you!  passion- 
ate love!  Yet  you  say  that  he  has  suddenly 
changed,  because  he  was  philandering  a  little 
with  an  attractive  girl  in  a  conservatory,  be- 
tween two  dances.  Why,  in  such  surroundings 
that  is  the  duty  of  even  the  most  devout  of 
lovers  towards  the  woman  with  whom  he  hap- 
pens to  be  for  the  moment. 

"Of  course,"  he  continued  persuasively,  "your 
whole  interest  in  the  matter  lies  in  the  success 
of  the  match  that  you  have  planned." 

"That  is  all,"  lied  Jolan  steadfastly. 

"And  you  are  afraid  for  the  girl's  future. 
You  would  not  have  her  marry  him  if  he  did 

232 


THE    DEVIL 

not  love  her  as  a  husband  should  love  his  wife. 
Oh,  I  understand." 

"Yes,  you  understand  now,  perfectly." 

"And  suddenly  a  doubt  has  entered  your 
mind.  You  have  heard  what  I  have  told  you — 
with  a  purpose,  I  confess,  because  I  seek  only 
the  happiness  of  all  concerned.  I  am  sure  that 
you  are  mistaken  about  Sandor  and  Vilma." 

"But  what  can  we  do?" 

"We  can  put  him  to  the  test.  We  can  easily 
find  out  which  is  the  more  significant — his 
desire  to  kill  me  this  afternoon,  or  the  little 
mock-sentimental  passage  of  a  few  moments 
ago." 

"How?    We  cannot  ask  him." 

"You  certainly  cannot  ask  him." 

"You  do  not  propose  that  I  shall  hide  and 
listen  while  you  make  him  confess  to  you  ?" 

"No,  eaves-dropping  would  be  unfair. 
Neither  you  nor  he  would  stoop  to  it  just  now,  I 
observed." 

Jolan  blushed. 

"I  have  a  plan,"  continued  Dr.  Nicholas. 
"We  will  cut  the  knot  we  cannot  loosen.  It  is 
233 


THE    DEVIL 

not  a  new  plan,  but  that  is  in  its  favor,  for  its 
efficacy  has  been  proved.  It  would  make  the 
Sphinx  betray  its  secret.  Only,  promise  me 
that  you  will  do  as  I  tell  without  asking  me  for 
explanations.  Do  you  consent?" 

"I  consent  to  anything,"  said  Jolan  eagerly. 
"Only  let  us  put  an  end  to  this  suspense." 

"You  have  a  long  white  silk  cloak,  have  you 
not,  that  covers  you  from  head  to  foot?" 

"Yes.  It  has  gold  embroidery,  and  is 
trimmed  with  swan's  down  round  the  neck  and 
all  the  way  down  the  iiont.  It  was  made  by 
Paquin." 

"All  that  is  most  important.  We  cannot 
fail." 

"It  has  a  Dutch  neck,"  continued  Jolan. 

"Better  and  better,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  add- 
ing to  himself,  "  'Where  would  I  be  if  most 
women  did  not  lose  their  sense  of  humor  when 
they  fell  in  love?' 

"Now,"  he  continued  aloud,  "go  and  put  that 
cloak  02.  Wrap  it  around  you  so  that  nothing 
of  you  is  visible  except  your  neck,  and  the  tips 
of  your  shoes.  Then  return  here." 

234 


THE    DEVIL 

"But  I  don't  M*  .  .  ." 

"Of  course  not.  You  will  see  afterward. 
Remember  that  you  have  promised  not  to  ask 
questions,  and  to  do  as  I  tell  you." 

"I  will  do  it.  The  test  sounds  funny,  but  you 
talk  so  confidently,  I  really  have  faith  in  it. 
Sometimes,  when  your  eyes  sparkle,  one  might 
believe  that  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world  lay 
behind  them." 

"You  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  me." 

"Well,  I  will  put  on  the  cloak.  It  sounds  like 
a  masquerade." 

"Oh,  yes,  one  thing  more.  Should  anyone 
ask  why  you  are  wearing  it,  simply  answer  that 
you  feel  cold,  and  wrap  it  closer  around  you. 
Now,  run  before  Sandor  returns.  .  .  .  Oh,  yes, 
he  will  be  back  the  moment  he  can  free  him- 
self." 

Jolan  mounted  the  stairs  with  decision, 
turned  to  the  right,  opened  a  small  door  in  the 
marble  wall,  and  disappeared.  A  moment  later 
Sandor  emerged  from  the  ball-room. 

He  was  pale,  agitated,  aggressive.  His  dark 
eyes  swept  the  foreground,  peered  into  the 
235 


THE    DEVIL 

depth  of  the  foliage,  then  turned  full  on  Dr. 
Nicholas. 

"Who  was  here  just  now?"  he  asked,  threat- 
eningly. 

"As  you  see,  I  am  all  alone." 

"Someone  rushed  out  as  I  approached — a 
woman — I  saw  the  whirl  of  her  dress.  It  seems 
that  she  did  not  want  me  to  see  her.  She  did 
not  pass  me.  Where  has  she  gone?" 

"There  was  nobody  here,  Sandor." 

"You  lie  like  a  gentleman." 

"Is  that  a  compliment  or  an  insult?  The 
ethics  of  the  gentleman  are  so  sadly  mixed  now- 
adays that  one  never  knows." 

"There  was  somebody  here,"  reiterated  San- 
dor. 

"Even  if  there  were,  it  would  not  concern 
you.  So  why  should  she  flee  and  hide?  You 
insinuate  that  it  is  not  good  for  a  woman's 
reputation  to  be  seen  in  my  company.  Oh, 
Sandor,  Sandor,  you  grieve  me  deeply." 

"Enough  of  this !  Your  cynicism  revolts  me, 
if  it  appears  to  give  you  amusement." 

"Behold  the  festive  bachelor  contemplating 
336 


THE    DEVIL 

matrimony.  Well,  she  is  a  charming  girl.  So 
demure,  so  simple,  under  her  assumption  of 
modernity." 

"You  are  an  ingenious  devil." 

"I  have  to  be.  Sandor,  you  are  in  a  devil  of 
a  humor." 

"I  am  in  neither  a  good  nor  a  bad  humor." 

"I  understand,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas.  "I  made 
a  bad  break  this  afternoon.  No  wonder  you 
are  angry  with  me.  I  confess  that  it  was  dis- 
honorable, but  consider  the  circumstances,  the 
excitement.  ...  Do  you  believe  in  psychic  in- 
fluences? There  was  some  strange  power  at 
work  in  your  rooms.  I  felt  it.  Did  not  you? 
Would  you  have  threatened  to  shoot  me  if  you 
had  been  yourself?  I  gave  you  just  provoca- 
tion, and  yet,  consider:  that  same  strange  in- 
fluence had  me  in  its  power,  too." 

"Let  us  talk  no  more  about  it,"  said  Sandor 
irritably. 

"But  I  must  set  myself  right  in  your  eyes, 
I  cannot  allow  you  to  keep  this  wrong  impres- 
sion in  your  memory.  I  committed  an  unpar- 
donable sin.  I  spoke  lightly  of  a  woman  whom 
237 


THE    DEVIL 

I  honor,  of  whom  I  shall  always  think  only  with 
the  profoundest  respect.  I  made  a  silly,  con- 
temptible boast.  .  .  ." 

"You  are  a  clever  fellow,  Dr.  Nicholas. 
Again  I  must  say  that  you  lie  like  a  gentleman." 

"Sandor,  I  protest.  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honor  that  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it  all  to  me?  What  is  she  to  me? 
I  am  going  to  be  married  to  the  dearest  girl 
that  ever  lived.  For  months  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  make  up  my  mind.  To-night  I  have 
reached  a  decision." 

"My  congratulations  and  my  best  wishes. 
May  she  prove  the  One  Woman  who  will  carry 
you  to  the  heights  of  inspiration." 

"I  came  here  to  tell  Jolan.  I  was  sure  that  I 
should  find  her  here.  Why  do  you  not  confess  ?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  confess." 

"Don't  you  understand  that  all  that  is  past?" 
Sandor  spoke  with  forced  lightness.  "It  is 
behind  me,  forgotten.  You  may  trust  me,  your 
secret  is  safe  with  me.  Why  not  tell  me  since 
I  have  surprised  you  both,  and  she  thought  it 
best  to  hide?  Is  not  that  a  confession?" 

238 


THE    DEVIL 

"It  is  you,  now,  Sandor,  who  talks  in  ques- 
tionable good  taste." 

"We  have  got  beyond  that,"  burst  out  the 
painter,  "Jolan  was  here  with  you." 

"Well,  then,  she  was,  but  what  of  that?" 

"Why  did  she  cut  and  run?  No,  Doctor,  you 
are  not  a  good  liar." 

"I  know  it,  Sandor,  my  scrupulous  regard  for 
truth  has  always  stood  in  the  way  of  my  suc- 
cesses in  this  world.  I  am  too  conscientious." 

Dr.  Nicholas  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"Since  you  have  wormed  the  truth  out  of 
me,"  he  went  on,  "I  will  tell  you  all.  I  am 
bound  to  tell  you.  I  am  in  a  dilemma,  and  only 
the  truth  can  place  Madame  Voross  in  the  true 
light.  I  promised  to  keep  the  secret;  I  break 
my  promise  because  otherwise  you  would  sus- 
pect worse  things." 

"Then  there  is  a  secret — an  innocent  secret. 
I  am  dying  to  hear  it,  Doctor.  I  assure  you  it 
will  be  safe  with  me.  Ha,  ha!" 

"Well,  then,  I  have  told  you  already  that  I 
respect  her  too  much  to  dare  to  make  love  to 
her.  Remember  that.  And  she,  why,  she  would 
239 


THE    DEVIL 

never  give  me  a  thought.  If  you  could  have 
seen  us  a  little  while  ago,  when  you  and 
Mademoiselle  Toth  were  sitting  over  there,  you 
might  have  observed  how  bored  she  was,  and 
how  hard  it  was  for  both  of  us  to  keep  up  an 
appearance  of  interest  in  our  labored  conversa- 
tion. We  whispered  because  we  did  not  wish 
to  disturb  you.  You  believe  me,  don't  you?  I 
must  insist  that  this  is  true." 

Sandor  glared  at  him  with  dark  suspicion. 

"Well,  then,  after  you  two  happy  beings  had 
left  us  to  join  the  merry  throng,  we  fell  to  dis- 
cussing the  theatre,  and,  of  course,  we  talked 
of  'Monna  Vanna,'  which,  she  told  me,  is 
having  a  huge  success  in  Budapest  just 
now. 

"Somehow  or  other  we  came  to  consider  the 
feelings  of  Vanna,  not  when  she  had  entered 
the  besieger's  tent,  with  her  high  resolve  to 
save  the  lives  of  thousands  by  her  sacrifice, 
but  before  that,  when  she  was  on  her  way 
through  the  beleaguered  city's  streets.  I  said 
that  this  must  have  been  the  greater  torture  to 
her. 

240 


THE    DEVIL 

"Madame  Voross  disagreed.  She  held  that 
the  populace  of  the  town  were  probably  not 
informed  of  the  conqueror's  terms,  and  that 
Vanna's  knowledge  of  their  ignorance  must 
have  given  her  a  feeling  of  absolute  safety  and 
unconcern.  She  said  she  knew  this,  because  she 
was  a  woman,  and  I  was  not, — that  a  single 
garment  sufficed  to  give  a  woman  a  feeling  of 
total  security,  that  she  could  walk  about  in  it 
unembarrassed,  so  long  as  she  was  absolutely 
sure  that  those  among  whom  she  moved  were 
unaware  of  her  secret.  And  she  added,  with  a 
laugh,  that  she  must  also  be  sure,  of  course, 
that  the  garment  was  securely  fastened." 

Sandor  looked  perplexed. 

"But  that  bizarre  conversation  is  no  reason 
why  she  should  run  away  the  moment  she  saw 
me  coming,"  he  pointed  out  with  great  astute- 
ness. 

"Now  I  am  coming  to  the  secret  that  you 
have  forced  out  of  me,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas, 
softly.  "Sandor,  you  don't  know  that  woman. 
What  a  sense  of  humor,  what  reckless  daring, 
what  high  spirits,  what  unconventionality  she 
241 


THE    DEVIL 

hides  below  that  dignified  manner!    Why,  ahe 
is  an  inspiration  of  gaiety! 

"Do  you  know  what  she  did?  She  sprang  up, 
impulsively,  and  said,  'I  will  prove  to  you  that 
I  am  right.  Wait  for  me  here,  and  I  will  rejoin 
you  in  a  few  moments,  in  a  long,  white  cloak. 
Only  my  neck  will  be  visible,  and  the  tips  of 
my  slippers.  The  cloak  will  be  securely  fas- 
tened, and  you  shall  take  me  into  the  ball-room, 
through  the  corridor,  and  the  other  apartments, 
into  the  library,  where  the  men  are  smoking, 
and  back  again,  here.  Then  I  shall  leave  you 
once  more  for  a  few  moments,  and  return  in 
my  ball  dress.  You  shall  see  that  nobody  will 
suspect,  and  that  therefore  I  shall  not  be  in  the 
least  embarrassed.' 

"I  protested,  I  implored,  but  she  would  not 
listen.  She  laughed  at  me  for  my  timidity, 
treated  it  all  as  a  capital  joke,  gave  me  her 
hand  to  kiss — she  has  beautiful  hands,  Sandor 
— and  ran  away.  I  confess,  the  whole  affair 
mounted  to  my  head  a  little  in  the  end.  I  am 
waiting  for  her  now,  and,  I  am  trembling  for 
the  possible  consequences." 

242 


THE    DEVIL 

"It  is  infamous!  It  is  not  possible!  It  is 
not  her  doing!  You  suggested  it  to  her,  you 
fiend!  You  lie!  You  lie!" 

"What  is  this  ?  What  is  it  to  you  ?  A  moment 
ago  you  told  me  that  she  was  indifferent  to 
you!" 

"Well,  then,  I  confess  it,  I  love  her!  I  love 
her!  I  love  her  so  much  that  I  am  willing  to 
marry  another  woman  to  protect  her  against 
myself!  But  I  will  protect  her  also  against 
you!" 

They  were  confronting  each  other,  Sandor 
beyond  himself  with  jealousy  and  rage,  Dr. 
Nicholas  grim,  quiet,  resolute. 

"I  will  protect  her  against  you!  I  will  pro- 
tect her  innocence,  her  self-respect,  her  good 
name!"  shouted  the  painter. 

"Again  I  ask,  is  that  not  the  husband's  busi- 
ness? Why  concern  yourself  with  other  peo- 
ple's affairs,  my  Galahad  in  a  dress-coat,  my 
squire  of  ladies'  absent  husbands?" 

"What  is  your  purpose?  What  can  be  your 
pleasure  in  this  degrading  business?"  Sandor 
looked  murderous. 

243 


THE    DEVIL 

"I  will  prevent  her,"  he  said,  more  collectedly, 
"and  I  will  drive  you  from  this  house,  which  you 
pollute." 

"The  husband's  business  again,"  sneered  Dr. 
Nicholas.  "Listen,  Sandor,  know  the  truth. 
We  are  rivals  still.  I,  too,  love  her,  and  I  will 
win  her,  because  you,  poor,  vacillating  thing, 
are  of  two  minds.  You  dare  not  take  her,  but 
you  would  frustrate  him  who  dares.  Your  love 
is  but  small  jealousy  a  dog-in-the-manger  feel- 
ing, adorned  with  high-sounding  sentiments." 

Sandor  sprang  at  him,  his  fingers  curved  like 
claws.  Dr.  Nicholas  quickly  stepped  back,  and 
said, 

"I  suppose  you  would  reach  for  that  revolver 
once  more,  you  murderous  madman,  but  this 
time  it  is  I  who  have  it." 

The  little  door  on  the  landing  opened.  The 
two  sprang  apart,  Sandor  hastily  composing  his 
features. 

Jolan  advanced  to  the  head  of  the  steps, 

slowly,  with  dignity.     She  was  wrapped  from 

head  to  foot  in  a  long,  white  cloak,  which  her 

beautiful   hand   clutched   tightly   around   her. 

244 


THE    DEVIL 

The  painter  observed  that  she  evaded  Dr.  Nich- 
olas's look,  and  that  she  blushed  as  she  ad- 
dressed him. 

"Sandor,"  she  said  tranquilly,  "I  have  not 
had  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  all  evening." 

He  continued  to  stare  at  her,  incredulous, 
bewildered,  with  ever  growing  fury. 

"The  ball  is  a  great  success,"  continued  the 
low,  level  voice  above  him,  "and  is  not  the  house 
beautiful?" 

Sandor  remained  silent 

"My  young  friend  is  a  little  out  of  sorts  this 
evening,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  "not  at  all  in  the 
proper  festive  mood." 

"Happiness  makes  me  silent,"  muttered  San- 
dor between  his  clenched  teeth.  "I  am  blessed 
to-night  with  the  love  of  a  good  girl,  modest 
and  pure." 

"Oh,  Sandor,  then  it  is  true?  I  congratulate 
you." 

Jolan  carefully  grasped  the  cloak  with  her 
left  hand,  and  held  out  the  right. 

"I  have  already  congratulated  him,"  broke 
in  the  Doctor. 

245 


THE    DEVIL 

"It's  disgusting  how  delighted  everybody  is 
with  me  this  evening,"  the  painter  burst  out. 
"I  must  be  getting  awfully  common-place.  I 
can  foresee  the  time  when  I  shall  be  the  popular 
painter  of  rich  women's  portraits." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Sandor?  You  announce 
your  engagement,  we  congratulate  you,  and  you 
answer  with  a  sarcastic  speech." 

"He  has  said  worse  things  to  me, "complained 
the  Doctor. 

"Why  do  you  wear  that  cloak?"  Sandor  broke 
out,  unable  to  control  himself  any  longer. 

"Why  should  I  not  wear  it?  It  is  very  hand- 
some, and  I  may  be  cold." 

"Take  it  off !  No,  no,  go  back  to  your  apart- 
ments!" 

His  voice  rose  to  a  shriek. 

Jolan  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  then 
turned  to  Dr.  Nicholas,  as  if  for  enlightenment, 
but  he  merely  made  a  discreet  motion  with  his 
head. 

"Go  back!  I  say,"  shouted  Sandor,  now  be- 
yond all  self-control.  "I  command  you!  Go 
back!" 

246 


THE    DEVIL 

"No  one  commands  me  but  my  husband," 
said  Jolan,  with  dignity,  "and  his  commands 
are  always  phrased  as  requests." 

She  turned  from  him,  and  confronted  Dr. 
Nicholas. 

"Come,  Doctor,"  she  said,  "give  me  your  arm, 
and  take  me  in.  My  guests  must  miss  me." 

Sandor  sprang  up  the  stairs,  and  barred  the 
entrance  to  the  ball-room. 

"No  one  must  leave  this  place,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely.  "No  one  shall  leave  this  place  until 
you  have  gone  up  to  your  room,  and  returned 
in  your  ball  dress." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  intently,  ponder- 
ingly  for  a  moment.  A  suspicion,  too  confused 
to  take  tangible  shape,  dawned  in  her  mind. 
What  was  there  behind  this  strange  stratagem 
of  that  mysterious  man?  She  made  up  her 
mind. 

"Sandor,"  she  said  with  calm  dignity,  "will 
you  help  me  to  remove  my  cloak?" 

Sandor  could  not  believe  his  ears.     In  the 
state  of  excitement  that  he  had  reached,  his 
reasoning  power  was  paralyzed. 
247 


THE    DEVIL 

"Never!"  he  whispered,  still  instinctively 
keeping  his  voice  down,  there,  so  near  the  ball- 
room. "Never!  Oh,  Jolan!" 

The  woman's  mind  was  still  groping  for  the 
solution  of  the  mystery.  Again  she  turned  to 
the  Doctor  for  some  token,  but  he  stood  motion- 
less, intently  watching. 

"Sandor,"  she  said  a  second  time,  with  infin- 
ite patience,  "will  you  help  me  to  remove  my 
cloak?" 

"I  dare  not.  ...  I  cannot." 

She  turned  to  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"Dr.  Nicholas,  will  you  help  me  to  remove 
my  cloak?" 

But  he,  too,  preserved  a  puzzled  silence. 

"Go  back  to  your  room,  Jolan,"  implored 
Sandor  now,  humbly.  Then,  with  a  new  access 
of  fury,  he  burst  into  an  insulting  laugh. 

"Monna  Jolan!"  he  said. 

At  last  she  understood.  The  red  crept  slowly 
up  from  her  cheeks  to  her  forehead,  it  suffused 
her  ears,  it  mantled  the  fine  white  neck.  A 
light  of  comprehension  came  into  her  eyes,  to 
give  way  to  an  angry  flame. 

248 


THE    DEVIL 

"Monna  Jolan,"  she  repeated.  She  had  seen 
Maeterlinck's  play.  Everything  was  clear  to 
her. 

"What  did  you  say  to  him  about  this  cloak?" 
she  asked  sternly  of  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"I  told  him  that  you  had  gone  to  put  it  on." 

"You  told  him  more." 

"A  little.  Remember,  you  promised  to  ask 
no  questions." 

"There  is  no  need  of  questions.  I  under- 
stand. Shame  upon  you.  And  shame  upon  you, 
Sandor,  for  suspecting  me.  It  is  ignoble,  un- 
speakably low  and  vile.  It  is  your  doing,  Dr. 
Nicholas.  Now  be  satisfied,  and  go." 

"You  do  not  play  fair.  I  proposed  an  experi- 
ment to  you,  and  you  consented.  It  has  suc- 
ceeded. You  have  seen  him  in  the  full  revela- 
tion of  his  love,  his  jealousy.  Now  that  you 
know,  now  that  all  your  uncertainty  has  been 
set  at  rest,  you  would  drive  me  from  the  house. 
You  ought  to  thank  me  instead." 

"And  Sandor  believed  him,"  Jolan  said  to 
herself,  half-aloud.  "Sandor  believed  this  of 
me!" 


THE    DEVIL 

Then  aloud,  with  infinite  contempt,  she  added, 
"And  these  are  men!" 

Laszlo  Voross  entered  the  conservatory 
hastily. 

"Ah!  here  you  are,  Jolan,"  he  said  briskly. 
"I  have  been  looking  for  you.  Some  of  the 
guests  are  leaving,  and  they  wish  to  thank  you 
and  to  say  good-night." 

"Laszlo,"  his  wife  answered  with  unwonted 
tenderness,  "help  me  to  remove  my  cloak." 

She  dropped  the  garment  into  his  waiting 
arms,  and  stood  there  in  her  ball-dress,  the 
jewels  glittering  on  her  corsage.  One  look  she 
cast  upon  the  two  men,  then,  taking  Voross's 
arm,  she  swept  proudly  from  their  presence. 


250 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DEVIL'S  LETTER 

LEFT  alone  with  Dr.  Nicholas,  Sandor  glared 
at  him,  and  asked  threateningly, 

"What  does  it  mean,  this  trick?  Ha!  You 
have  played  your  game  well.  She  despises  me, 
and  you — you  have  the  field  to  yourself.  But  I 
will  foil  you  yet." 

He  advanced,  murderous  intention  in  his 
gleaming  eyes. 

Without  moving  a  step,  Dr.  Nicholas  put  his 
hand  in  his  hip  pocket,  pulled  out  the  revolver, 
and  offered  it  to  the  painter,  who  took  it 
eagerly,  yet  amazed  at  so  foolhardy  an  act. 

"Be  careful,"  said  the  other,  mockingly,  "it 
is  loaded.  Right  between  the  shoulder  blades, 
you  know." 

He  squarely  turned  his  back,  and  lounged 
towards  one  of  the  chairs,  taking  out  his  cigar- 
ette case  as  he  did  so.  He  stopped  to  light  the 
251 


THE    DEVIL 

cigarette,  still  with  his  back  towards  Sandor, 
then  turned  around  again  and  sat  down  com- 
posedly. 

Sandor,  who  had  raised  the  pistol,  lowered  it, 
approached  him  slowly,  and  laid  the  revolver 
before  him. 

"I  do  not  shoot  men  in  the  back,"  he  said, 
"nor  do  I  kill  unarmed  men.  You  are  still  my 
guest,  remember.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow 
morning." 

Vilma  entered  at  this  moment,  in  cloak  and 
hood,  followed  by  her  muffled  chaperon. 

"I  am  going,  Sandor,"  she  said;  "will  you 
see  us  to  our  carriage?  Good-night,  Dr.  Nich- 
olas." 

The  Doctor  rose,  and  made  his  most  ceremo- 
nious bow. 

"Good  night,  Mademoiselle  Toth.  I  have  had 
a  most  interesting  chat  with  you." 

Sandor  mounted  the  steps,  and  followed  the 
two  women. 

Left  alone,  Dr.  Nicholas  picked  up  the  re- 
volver, put  it  back  into  his  pocket,  and  remarked 
to  the  tip  of  his  cigarette, 

252 


THE    DEVIL 

"If  I  had  not  given  him  that  revolver  to  kill 
me  with,  none  knows  what  might  have  hap- 
pened. He  might  have  hit  me  with  his  fist, 
someone  might  have  seen  us,  a  duel  would  have 
followed — my  duels  can  have  but  one  ending, — 
and  I  would  have  had  my  trouble  for  my  pains. 
It  would  have  spoiled  all  my  plans,  such  artistic 
plans,  too.  Not  in  a  long  time  have  I  been  so 
interested." 

He  smoked  on,  calmly,  contentedly,  waiting. 
Jolan  would  return,  of  this  he  was  sure,  to  find 
whom — him  or  the  other  man?  It  was  the 
same  thing  in  the  end. 

She  did  not  return  to  the  conservatory  at  the 
end  of  a  little  time.  Her  glance  passed  over 
him,  and  sought  Sandor,  in  the  darkest  corners 
of  the  leafy,  fronded  masses. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"He  is  gone.  He  is  mad — mad  with  love, 
mad  with  hatred,  mad  with  trust  in  you,  mad 
with  suspicion  of  you,  mad  with  jealousy  of 
me.  Now  that  you  know,  what  are  you  going 
to  do?  Are  you  going  to  let  him  pay  the  cost? 
You  have  robbed  him  of  his  peace  of  mind,  of 
253 


THE    DEVIL 

the  slim  chance  of  contentment  he  had  in  a  life 
without  you — he  will  never  marry  another  now. 
What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  know  the  course  I  have  to  take." 

"You  are  never  going  to  see  him  again,  you 
are  going  to  dismiss  him,  to  send  him  away 
from  you,  despair  in  his  heart.  He  will  never 
paint  again,  but  what  is  that  compared  with 
your  stolid  comfort?" 

"You  are  unsettling  me  again.  When  I 
entered  my  mind  was  made  up.  Why  do  you 
talk  like  that?" 

"Reflect  well.  The  step  you  are  about  to  take 
will  be  irreparable." 

"I  want  it  to  be  irreparable.  We  both  shall 
suffer,  Vilma  will  suffer,  but  it  is  the  only  way." 

"You  love  him  still?" 

"Yes,  I  love  him  more  than  ever." 

"Because  he  tried  to  kill  me?" 

"I  love  him  for  that,  I  love  him  because  he 
forbade  me  to  carry  out  the  disgraceful  action 
of  which  you  had  led  him  to  suspect  me." 

"But  he  believed  me." 

Jolan  stood  silent.  This  man,  with  his  devil- 
264 


THE    DEVIL 

ish  ingenuity,  played  upon  her  emotions  as 
upon  an  instrument.  She  had  been  a  toy  in  his 
hands  since  that  moment  when  he  had  made 
his  first  bow  to  her,  earlier  in  the  day.  He  had 
swept  away  the  barriers  of  her  reserve,  the 
results  of  six  years'  sternest  schooling,  he  had 
given  her  passion  wings  to  aspire  to  the  heights, 
he  had  fanned  the  consuming  flames  of  jealousy 
and  hatred  in  her  breast.  He  had  tricked 
her,  insinuated  gross  insults,  suggested — nay, 
preached  unspeakable  things.  She  had  bidden 
him  not  to  enter  her  house,  she  had  told  him  to 
leave  it,  and  yet — here  she  was  listening  to  him, 
under  her  husband's  roof,  swayed  by  his  words, 
and — most  strangely  of  all,  still  looking  to  him 
for  advice  and  guidance. 

"But  he  believed  me,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas  once 
more. 

The  feeling  of  outrage  swept  over  her  again. 
The  agony  of  that  brief  hour  again  stood  out 
in  all  its  vividness.  Sandor  had  made  love  to 
another  woman  before  her  eyes,  that  other 
woman  had  mocked  her,  defied  her,  had  borne 
him  off  in  triumph,  and  then — he  had  returned 
255 


THE    DEVIL 

to  put  upon  her  the  indelible  stigma  of  an 
unworthy  suspicion.  Her  feelings  tossed  her 
hither  and  thither,  from  forgiveness  to  bitter- 
est resentment,  from  love  to  hate,  from  renun- 
ciation to  the  wildest  assertion  of  her  rights  to 
him.  Would  this  never  end? 

She  reeled.  Then  a  great  weariness  came 
over  her.  She  had  been  walking  rapidly  up 
and  down;  now  she  sank  down  on  the  chair 
near  Dr.  Nicholas. 

"You  can  never  forgive  him  for  this,"  he 
whispered,  "and  you  realize  it.  But  you  love 
him  still,  and  he  loves  you.  Would  it  not  be 
kindest  to  end  his  suspense  and  yours?  One 
moment  of  decision,  and  all  is  over,  beyond 
recall.  Make  up  your  mind." 

She  looked  at  him,  her  vision  blurred  by 
scalding  tears. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said.  "There  is  but 
one  way  out." 

She  began  to  fumble  nervously  at  the  edge 
of  the  table  before  her.  It  opened  up,  reveal- 
ing a  small  writing-desk,  fully  equipped. 

"This  was  to  have  been  my  morning  seat," 
256 


THE    DEVIL 

she  explained  with  a  sad  little  smile.  "Here  I 
would  have  attended  to  the  affairs  of  my  house- 
hold. I  shall  never  sit  here  now." 

She  took  out  an  envelope,  addressed  it,  then 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"You  are  going  to  write  to  Sandor?  Yes, 
that  is  the  only  way." 

"Please  do  not  talk  to  me,  I  must  get  this 
over  before  my  husband  comes  to  look  for  me. 
I  told  him  that  I  had  a  headache  .  .  .  that 
I  wished  to  be  alone  for  a  while  here, 
where  it  is  cool,  but  ...  he  never  leaves  me 
alone  for  long.  He,  too,  loves  me,  in  his  own 
way. 

"You  will  take  this  letter  to  Sandor  for  me, 
will  you  not?"  she  continued  softly,  "and  be 
kind  and  patient  with  him.  Do  not  quarrel 
with  him  any  more,  for  my  sake.  He  needs 
friendship  now,  the  poor  boy,  and  rest.  I  hope 
that  he  will  sleep;  I  feel  as  if  I  never  shall 
close  my  eyes  again.  Oh,  if  we  had  only  parted 
in  friendship,  after  that  beautiful  moment  of 
this  afternoon.  Now  his  last  thought  of  me 
will  be  one  of  bitterness." 
257 


THE    DEVIL 

"He  will  think  often  of  you,  Jolan,  as  you 
will  think  of  him,  with  regret,  with  longing." 

She  softly  wiped  her  eyes,  and  stared  before 
her  at  the  paper. 

"You  are  weakening  again,"  said  Dr.  Nich- 
olas. "Steel  your  heart,  and  write." 

"I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannot." 

"Forget  your  love,  and  remember  only  the 
insult  he  has  offered  you.  Let  your  letter  burn 
with  righteous  indignation,  let  there  be  no  pos- 
sibility of  misinterpretation." 

"I  cannot  make  you  out,  Dr.  Nicholas.  You 
have  done  me  more  harm  than  can  ever  be 
atoned  for,  yet  now  in  the  end,  your  advice  is 
sincere,  and  wise." 

"I  regret  indeed  .  .  ." 

"I  am  not  angry  with  you  any  more.  What 
matters  all  else  that  has  happened  ?  This  crisis 
was  bound  to  come  sooner  or  later.  You  have 
merely  hastened  its  coming. 

"By  the  time  he  gets  this  letter,"  she  con- 
tinued bravely,  "I  shall  be  my  old  self  again. 
But,  oh,  it  is  hard  to  write.  How  shall  I 
begin?" 

258 


THE    DEVIL 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  render  you  one  more 
service  ?" 

"Which  is?" 

"As  you  have  just  said,  I  precipitated  this 
crisis,  even  though  I  did  not  cause  it.  You 
have  been  taken  unawares,  unprepared.  You 
do  not  know  what  to  say.  I  began  this,  let  me 
finish  it.  It's  only  right  that  I  should  dictate 
this  letter — I  who  am  cool  and  disinterested. 
It  shall  be  a  scathing  letter,  conclusive  and 
dignified.  I  will  be  cruel  where  you  would  be 
merciful  and  falter — the  great  mistake  against 
which  you  must  guard." 

"You  wish  to  do  this?" 

"Yes,  I  know  exactly  what  to  say.  It  must 
be  curt,  pointed,  final." 

Jolan  looked  up  at  him.  He  looked  sympa- 
thetic. She  took  a  decision. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.    "Dictate." 

"I  give  you  fair  warning.  It  will  be  a  crush- 
ing letter." 

She  answered  simply: 

"I  am  ready." 

"Then  begin." 

259 


THE    DEVIL 

He  stepped  behind  her,  and  leaned  lightly 
over  the  back  of  her  chair,  looking  over  her 
shoulder. 

"Monsieur :  This  letter  will  make  it  clear  to 
you  that  you  shall  never  see  me  again.  If  it 
fails  in  this,  it  is  written  in  vain.  My  resolu- 
tion is  taken.  Do  not  attempt  to  write  to  me, 
do  not  try  to  see  me,  seek  no  interview  with 
me,  make  no  inquiries.  I  shall  see  to  it  that 
we  never  meet.  I  charge  you  upon  your  honor 
not  to  make  my  task  harder  than  it  need  be.  I 
must  be  as  one  dead  to  you — " 

"As  one  dead  to  you,"  whispered  Jolan,  the 
tears  gushing  again  into  her  eyes. 

"Dead  to  you,"  repeated  the  voice  at  her  ear. 

"This  evening  I  put  you  to  the  test, — the 
highest  test  of  the  respectful,  honorable  love 
which  I  believed  you  had  for  me.  I  knew  the 
meaning  of  that  test,  Sandor,  when  I  made  it,  I 
felt  so  certain  of  you." 

The  pen  stopped  rushing  over  the  paper. 

260 


THE    DEVIL 

Jolan  furtively  wiped  her  eyes.  Then  she  reso- 
lutely took  up  a  fresh  sheet,  and  looked  up  side- 
ways. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  repeated. 

"And  you,"  dictated  Dr.  Nicholas,  "you  out- 
raged my  trust,  before  another,  you  repaid  me 
with  an  insult  that  fills  my  heart  with  resent- 
ment and  grief.  Only  a  few  hours  before  you 
had  left  me,  after  that  one  brief  moment  of  in- 
nocent surrender,  with  my  command  laid  upon 
you  to  forget  me,  to  let  things  be  as  they  had 
been  before,  to  preserve  the  glorious  innocence 
of  a  secret  attachment  which  harmed  none,  and 
which  was  as  a  fragrance  of  flowers  in  my  inner 
life.  Oh,  the  peace  that  filled  me, — the  pride  I 
felt  in  temptation  overcome,  in  the  wisdom  that 
had  the  strength  to  select  the  right  road  and 
tread  it.  I  was  so  sure  of  your  chivalry,  your 
manhood,  your  championship  of  me,  of  the  pur- 
ity of  the  shrine  which,  I  knew,  you  had  created 
for  me  in  the  innermost  sanctum  of  your  heart." 

Jolan  took  up  another  sheet.    She  was  writ- 
ing mechanically  now,  her  brain  intent  upon  the 
261 


THE    DEVIL 

sound  of  the  words  whispered  into  her  ear,  and 
not  upon  their  meaning — tracing  it  all  back  in- 
to the  past,  remembering,  reconstructing,  and 
— idealizing  the  memory. 

She  came  to  herself,  and  her  pen  flew  over 
the  paper,  overtaking  the  words  that  for  a  mo- 
ment had  fallen  upon  an  unhearing  ear. 

"You  deceived  me,  Sandor,  you  have  always 
lied  to  me.  It  was  not  you  whom  I  trusted 
that  protected  us  both  against  ourselves ;  it  was 
I,  in  my  weakness,  my  misplaced  trust  in  you, 
who  was  our  tower  of  strength  against  tempta- 
tion. You  were  but  biding  your  time.  Your 
suspicion  proved  the  value  you  set  upon  my 
honor.  This  love  of  yours,  ah,  how  blind  wo- 
men are  when  they  love — I  see  it  now  in  all  its 
gross  unworthiness.  I  have  lost  forever  my 
peace  of  mind  and  soul.  I  feel  as  if  I  shall  never 
sleep  again.  I  suffer  for  myself  and  for  you. 
I  could  not  give  him  love,  but  I  gave  him  loy- 
alty; I  was  a  faithful  wife,  and  now!  I  have 
wronged  him  only  in  thought,  but  that  is  enough 
to  abase  me  in  my  own  eyes  forever.  You  know 
how  well  I  had  planned  it  all  for  the  best,  for 
262 


THE    DEVIL 

the  best  of  all  of  us,  and  then — what  happened  ? 
How  did  it  happen,  and  why? 

"I  was  carried  away,  suddenly,  irresistibly — 
overmastered  by  emotions  long  controlled.  I 
saw  you  passing  out  of  my  life,  and  I  was  loath 
to  let  you  go  without  a  sign,  without  a  single 
moment's  union  of  our  souls.  We  were  entitled 
to  that,  Sandor,  in  the  face  of  the  sacrifice  we 
were  about  to  make." 

Dr.  Nicholas  stopped.  Jolan  bent  forward, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  It  had  been 
so  sweet,  so  innocent,  and  now !  A  tender  long- 
ing welled  up  in  her  heart.  A  wave  of  the  love 
that  understands  fully  and  forgives  over- 
whelmed her. 

The  man  at  her  shoulder  bent  forward  lower 
still,  and  whispered  softly,  with  infinite  pity, 
that  engendered  self-pity  in  her,  the  rest  of  the 
letter : 

"I  did  not  know  that  I  needed  you  so  much. 

I  wondered  if  you  needed  me.    I  saw  you  with 

Vilma,  and  my  jealousy  flamed  up.     I  must 

know  the  deepest  profundities  of  your  love  for 

263 


THE    DEVIL 

me.  And  so  I  tested  you,  confident  of  the  out- 
come. I  was  not  myself;  love  and  the  fear  of 
losing  you  ruled  me.  You  outraged  me,  yet  in 
my  heart  I  jubilated,  'He  loves  me!  He  loves 
me!'  And  that  is  why  I  am  sending  you  away 
forever — because  we  love  each  other  beyond 
words,  with  a  power  that  would  overwhelm  us. 
I  love  you,  yes,  I  love  you,  Sandor!  That  is 
why  you  must  never  see  me  again.  That  is  the 
price  you  must  pay  for  this  confession.  I  have 
said  too  much,  and  yet  so  little!  And  now,  my 
king,  my  own,  farewell!  This  is  our  first  true 
meeting,  it  is  also  our  parting.  I  shall  never 
see  you  again." 

The  voice  stopped.  Jolan  stared  at  the  sheet 
before  her. 

"Now  sign,"  commanded  Dr.  Nicholas,  and  as 
in  a  trance  she  obeyed.  "Jolan,"  she  wrote,  and 
nothing  more. 

The  doctor  snatched  the  letter  from  under 
her  trembling  hand,  folded  the  sheets,  stuffed 
them  into  the  envelope,  closed  it,  and  put  it  into 
his  pocket. 

"A  dignified  letter,"  he  said,  "gentle  and  yet 
264 


THE    DEVIL 

severe.  He  cannot  mistake  your  meaning,  he 
will  obey  you,  he  will  never  try  to  see  you  again. 
Poor  boy!  I  shall  be  there  to-morrow  to  give 
him  courage.  I  will  advise  him  to  move  to 
Vienna  at  once.  Perhaps  Vilma  will  make  him 
forget  in  time." 

"You  fiend!"  burst  out  Jolan,  tortured  beyond 
the  power  of  endurance.  "Does  it  give  you 
pleasure  to  stab  me  to  the  heart  with  your 
words?" 

"The  physician  often  has  to  hurt  in  order 
to  cure.  Only  a  child  hates  him  for  it." 

"What  have  I  written?"  wailed  Jolan.  "You 
told  me,  and  I  held  the  pen.  Give  me  back  that 
letter ;  you  shall  not  give  it  to  him." 

"I  will  give  it  to  him  to-morrow,  when  I  see 
him.  To-night  I  have  to  attend  to  important 
business.  But  he  shall  have  it  before  I  leave 
at  four." 

"Give  it  back  to  me!  I  do  not  wish  him  to 
read  it.  I  would  rather  give  it  to  my  husband 
than  to  him." 

"My  conscience  forbids  me  to  undo  the  good 
work  you  have  begun.  It  would  be  weakness 
265 


THE    DEVIL 

in  me,  weakness  in  you,  to  let  you  destroy  it. 
Hush!  Here  is  your  husband." 

As  he  turned  away  from  her  chair,  and  non- 
chalantly went  to  meet  Voross  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  Dr.  Nicholas  said  softly  to  himself: 

"Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  she  will 
deliver  the  Postscript  to  him  to-morrow  in 
person." ' 

Aloud,  he  continued: 

"What  a  colossal  success,  Monsieur  Voross, 
your  wife's  ball  has  been !  It  will  be  the  talk  of 
the  capital  for  a  week.  A  feast  worthy  of  the 
hosts,  and  of  their  superb  mansion. 

"Madame  Voross  is  a  little  overcome,"  he 
continued.  "She  came  here,  she  told  me,  for  a 
moment's  repose,  and  kept  me  for  a  little  chat. 
That  is  why  I  have  stayed  so  unpardonably 
late.  But  now  I  am  off.  Before  I  go,  however, 
let  me  apologize  for  dampening  the  spirits  of 
some  of  your  guests  in  the  library.  Believe  me, 
I  did  it  unwillingly,  at  the  request  of  someons 
whom  I  need  not  name.  You  understand? 
They  may  have  been  momentarily  disconcerted, 
but  they  will  know  by  now  that  a  kindly  inten- 
266 


THE    DEVIL 

tion,  more  potent  than  my  own,  was  behind  the 
words  I  spoke  to  them.  If  they  but  heed  them, 
they  will  find  their  profit.  As  for  the  ladies — 
oh,  yes,  I  suppose  I  have  been  rude  to  them, 
too, — you  will  find  that  I  have  put  new  ideas 
into  the  heads  of  two  of  them — ideas,  I  flatter 
myself,  that  will  send  their  pens  flying  over 
the  paper.  The  Countess — well,  she  is  a  little 
American  radical,  who  dares  not  believe  in  the 
permanence  of  class  distinctions,  but  cherishes 
her  title  none  the  less,  and  probably  has  coro- 
nets on  her  lingerie  wherever  there  is  room  for 
them.  Such  inconsistencies  are  not  rare,  you 
know.  Lassalle,  you  will  remember,  while 
preaching  the  socialistic  state,  pretended  that 
he  was  of  noble  birth,  and  clapped  a  de  before 
his  name.  Well,  the  Countess  did  not  respect 
my  prejudices,  which  I  have  inherited  and  dare 
not  drop,  and  so  I  got  even.  But  I  made  my 
peace  with  her.  A  charming  woman. 

"And  now  I  must  make  my  adieus.    Madame 
Voross,  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  a  charm- 
ing evening.    It  has  been  profitable  as  well  as 
pleasant.     I  feel  that  not  a  single  moment  of 
267 


THE    DEVIL 

my  time  has  been  wasted.  I  kiss  your  hand, 
gracious  lady,  and  wish  you  a  good  night." 

He  bowed  low. 

"One  moment,  Doctor,"  said  Jolan.  "Was 
there  not  a  paper  here  somewhere,  which  I 
asked  you  to  give  .  .  ." 

"To  your  husband.  Oh,  yes,  let  me  see.  .  .  . 
An  advertisement  of  an  automobile  was  it  not, 
or  a  communication  of  some  kind  ?  I  remember 
that  it  was  not  addressed  to  him.  .  .  .  One 
moment,  Monsieur  Voross,  I  will  find  it." 

He  began  to  look  on  the  disordered  desk, 
under  it,  under  the  chairs,  then  to  search  his 
pockets. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Jolan,  pale  with  terror  of 
this  unaccountable  person,  whose  actions  ap- 
peared to  be  governed  by  no  rules  of  conduct 
known  to  her,  who  might  carry  out  this  infer- 
nal, hidden  threat  without  compunction, — 
"Never  mind,  it  does  not  matter." 

"Then  once  more,  good  night,  and  a  good 
night's  rest.  I  shall  carry  away  from  Budapest 
the  pleasantest  memories." 

He  mounted  the  stairs,  and  disappeared 
268 


THE    DEVIL 

through  the  door  of  the  ball-room,  Voross 
accompanying  him  to  the  front  door,  enchanted 
with  the  easy  intimacy  of  this  distinguished 
stray  guest. 

Returning  to  the  conservatory  immediately 
the  door  had  been  closed  behind  this  last 
departing  guest  by  a  butler  assisted  by  two 
footmen,  Voross  said  exultingly  to  Jolan,  sit- 
ting there  the  picture  of  dejection: 

"Isn't  he  charming?  Such  tact!  Ah,  blood 
will  tell  say  what  one  will.  You  heard  his 
explanation?  He  made  it  so  that  I  may  re- 
assure the  others  to-morrow.  Who  knows, 
Jolan,  perhaps  you  will  be  some  day  soon  the 
Baroness  Voross  de  Kis-Szallas.  I  knew  what 
I  did  when  I  bought  that  estate.  Your  husband 
always  looks  ahead." 

Jolan  made  an  effort  to  present  her  custom- 
ary appearance  of  placid,  but  genuine  interest 
in  all  his  affairs,  but  failed  for  the  first  time 
since  her  marriage. 

"Ah,  yes,  the  future,"  she  replied.  "Why 
look  beyond  to-day?" 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  quickly. 
269 


THE    DEVIL 

"Poor  girl,"  he  said.  An  expression  of  infin- 
ite tenderness  came  into  his  masterful  eyes,  and 
relaxed  the  grim,  inexorable  mouth. 

"Poor  girl,"  he  repeated,  approaching  her. 
"You  are  all  done  up,  and  no  wonder.  It  is  the 
woman  who  pays  for  a  social  success  like  this. 
Well,  you  shall  have  your  reward — shall  we 
say  that  brougham  lined  with  white  leather 
that  you  liked  so  much  the  other  day?  Or  a 
new  tiara,  or  a  ring?  Take  me  with  you  to 
select  it,  dear,  if  I  can  possibly  find  the  time. 
You  know  that  you  fare  better  when  you  take 
me  along  than  when  you  go  alone.  Ah,  yes,  the 
prudent  housewife  of  a  man  who  is  so  rich  that 
you  could  not  squander  his  money  if  you  tried. 
It  is  I  who  am  the  spendthrift  where  you  are 
concerned, — my  treasure." 

He  approached  her  fondly,  sat  down  beside 
her,  and  softly  stroked  her  arm. 

She  snatched  it  away  from  him,  a  sudden 
active  dislike  replacing  her  customary  passive 
submission  to  his  endearments. 

"Please  leave  me  alone,  Laszlo,"  she  pleaded. 
"Do  not  talk  to  me,  do  not  stay  here  with  me. 
270 


THE    DEVIL 

I  am  all  unstrung,  my  nerves  are  on  edge,  I  feel 
as  if  I  would  scream  aloud." 

Voross  looked  seriously  disturbed. 

"Shall  I  tell  them  to  telephone  to  the  stables 
to  send  a  carriage  for  the  doctor?"  he  asked. 

"The  Doctor?    No!    No!    Yes!" 

In  her  excited  state,  she  could  only  think  of 
Dr.  Nicholas.  She  recovered  herself  in  a  mo- 
ment. Him  she  could  not  recall;  not  even  her 
husband  with  all  his  money  could  bring  back 
that  letter  to  her. 

"The  doctor  could  do  me  no  good,"  she  said 
wearily.  "Just  leave  me  alone.  Leave  me, 
Laszlo,  please  do." 

"But  it  is  after  four." 

"I  know,  I  know.  I  shall  retire  in  a  little 
while.  Just  go.  You  need  rest  yourself.  You 
will  be  up  again  to-morrow  early.  Your  affairs 
never  seem  to  stop  for  half  a  day." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  leave  you.  But  take  care 
that  you  do  not  catch  cold.  Ah,  here  is  your 
cloak.  I  will  wrap  it  around  you." 

She  stood  up,  and  submitted  to  having  the 
hated  garment  wrapped  tenderly  around  her  by 
271 


THE    DEVIL 

his  large,  clumsy  hands.  Then  she  stiffened 
herself  under  his  good-night  kiss. 

Was  this  physical  repugnance  to  be  added  to 
her  tortures,  she  wondered.  Was  ail  peace  on 
this  earth  at  an  end  for  her? 

The  moment  she  was  alone,  she  snatched  the 
cloak  from  her  shoulders,  as  if  it  burned  them, 
and  flung  it  from  her.  Then  she  sat  down 
again,  to  renewed  thought,  troubled,  confused, 
in  a  labyrinth  of  self-torture  from  which  there 
was  no  escape. 

At  last  she  roused  herself,  wearily  mounted 
the  steps,  and  slowly  dragged  the  finery  of  her 
train  through  the  palatial  empty  spaces  of  her 
new  home,  a  prison  now  to  which  she  felt  con- 
demned for  life.  She  let  her  maid  undress  her, 
donned  a  mink-lined  dressing-gown,  and  dis- 
missed her  for  the  night.  There  would  be  no 
sleep  for  her,  and  so  she  approached  the  win- 
dow to  await  before  it  the  slow  coming  of  the 
late  winter  dawn. 

She  looked  out.    Her  heart  stopped  beating. 

For,  on  the  wall  of  the  house  opposite  her 
own  palace,  she  saw  the  shadow  of  Dr.  Nich- 

272 


THE    DEVIL 

olas,  enlarged  a  hundredfold,  his  eagle  nose  and 
salient  chin  jutting  out  sharply  in  the  silhou- 
ette, his  high  hat  with  its  flat  brim  set  deep 
upon  his  forehead,  smoking  his  eternal  cigar- 
ette. 

What  was  he  doing  there  so  late?  Was  he 
watching  the  house?  Was  he  expecting  San- 
dor? 


273 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  DEVIL'S  WISDOM   AND  WOMAN'S 

IT  was  half  past  two  of  the  afternoon  follow- 
ing the  Voross  ball.  Dr.  Nicholas,  immaculate 
as  ever,  clear  of  eye,  alert  of  body  and  mind, 
was  seated  in  Sandor's  den,  desultorily  reading 
a  Jokai  novel.  He  was  waiting. 

He  had  come  back  to  his  host's  home  at  six, 
had  smoked  cigarettes  and  drunk  brandy  till 
seven.  Then,  replenishing  the  fire  with  his  own 
aristocratic,  capable  hands,  he  had  taken  a 
leisurely  bath,  had  been  shaved  and  groomed  by 
Andre,  and  had  sent  him  out  for  the  papers, 
which  he  read  over  a  cup  of  delicious  Vienna 
coffee,  made  for  him  by  the  valet,  whose 
admiration  he  had  won. 

"Here  is  a  true  viveur"  the  experienced  serv- 
ant in  many  bachelor  homes  had  said  to  him- 
self,— "a  real  man  of  the  world.  He  dances  all 
night,  drinks  his  share  of  the  champagne,  no 

274 


THE    DEVIL 

doubt,  finishes  the  night  with  a  decanter  of 
brandy,  goes  without  sleep,  and  in  the  morning, 
instead  of  being  grumpy,  he  is  as  pleasant  and 
polite  as  one  can  wish.  Ah  yes,  blood  will  tell. 
And  the  free  way  he  has  with  his  gold  pieces! 
That  proves  he  is  a  prince.  Only  people  who 
have  never  had  to  work  for  their  money  fling 
it  around  like  that,  without  hesitation  or 
thought  of  its  value." 

Now  the  bell  rang.  Andre  hastened  through 
the  room,  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  was 
heard  to  answer  a  whispered  question. 

The  Doctor  looked  expectant.  Andre  re- 
turned, holding  the  knob  of  the  closed  door 
firmly  behind  him. 

"What  is  it?" 

"There's  a  lady  here  who  insists  that  she 
must  see  Monsieur  Tatray." 

"What  kind  of  a  lady?" 

"A  real  lady,  sir." 

"A  real  lady  or  a  real  real  lady?" 

Andre  smiled  deferentially. 

"A  real  real  lady,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  told  her 
that  Monsieur  Tatray  had  come  home  very  late 
275 


THE    DEVIL 

from  the  ball,  and  is  still  sleeping.  She  an- 
swered that  she  would  wait." 

"Do  you  know  this  lady?" 

"She  has  never  been  here  before,  sir." 

"Show  her  in." 

Andre  disappeared,  and  a  moment  later, 
bowing  deeply,  with  genuine  respect,  ushered 
in  Vilma  Toth.  He  was  an  experienced 
servant  who  had  observed  much  in  his  long 
career,  and  was  master  of  infinite  nuances  of 
deference. 

"Ah,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas,  rising,  with  his  best 
bow.  "Good  morning,  Gnaediges  Fraidien,  I 
kiss  your  hand." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  in  a  distracted  sort 
of  way,  looking  about  the  room  the  while,  tak- 
ing in  its  every  detail.  Then  she  sat  down,  Dr. 
Nicholas  following  her  example. 

"Good  morning,  Doctor.  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  you  here.  Are  you  Sandor's  secretary?" 

"I  am  his  friend,  philosopher,  and  guide.  I 
came  here  on  purpose  to  teach  him  the  beauty 
of  the  line  of  least  resistance.  It  is  mere  acci- 
dent that  you  find  me  still  here.  I  depart  to- 

276 


THE    DEVIL 

night,  for  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  my  work 
is  accomplished." 

"Tell  me,  Dr.  Nicholas,  who  are  you?  Last 
night  at  the  ball  everybody  said  that  you  were  a 
Royal  Highness  incognito." 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  am  a  Somebody  in  dis- 
guise. People  never  recognize  me  until  after  I 
have  gone,  too  late  to  thank  me  properly.  I 
play  many  parts,  I  am  always  busy — there  is 
always  work  for  idle  hands  to  do.  Never  mind 
the  usual  meaning  of  the  proverb.  As  I  use  it, 
it  is  very  true.  I  am  a  diplomat  and  a  man  of 
business,  attending  to  my  own  affairs,  which 
are  flourishing,  thank  you,  owing  to  my  own 
exertions  and  the  willing  collaboration  of  many 
men  and  women.  I  have  enemies — who  has 
not?  Yet  many  who  think  themselves  my 
doughtiest  opponents  are  in  reality  my  allies. 
I  once  dwelt  for  six  weeks  in  the  home  of  one 
of  the  bitterest  of  them — in  an  archiepiscopal 
palace.  When  I  departed,  he  thanked  me  for 
having  shown  him  his  real  duty,  which  hap- 
pened to  point  in  the  direction  of  the  realization 
of  his  desires. 

377 


THE    DEVIL 

"I  am  also  a  multimillionaire,  whose  con- 
suming ambition  it  is  to  do  good  and  die  poor. 
That's  why  I  shall  live  many,  many  more  years. 
Charity  is  with  me  a  passion,  and  it  taxes  my 
ingenuity.  It  keeps  me  awake  at  night,  so  that 
I  often  fall  asleep  in  the  daytime  from  sheer 
exhaustion.  That  happened  to  me  yesterday 
afternoon,  here  in  this  very  room,  while  I  was 
waiting  for  Sandor,  and  .  .  .  but  no  matter. 
I  must  not  be  indiscreet.  To  continue,  I  have 
put  up  the  price  of  coal,  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  founding  asylums  for  the  freezing  poor.  I 
have  cut  the  wages  of  my  employees  that  I 
might  have  the  philanthropist's  pure  joy  of 
opening  soup  kitchens. 

"I  am  an  author,  too.  'Experimental  Matri- 
mony,' 'The  Higher  Moral  Law,'  'Salvation 
through  Success,'  'The  Protective  Tariff  as  a 
Means  of  Grace,'  'War  and  Desolation  as  the 
Highest  Good' — I  see  you  recognize  the  titles. 
But  I  am  nothing  if  not  anonymous,  and  I  am 
able  to  preserve  my  anonymity  because  those 
who  know  my  real  self  are  always  the  first  to 
hide  their  knowledge  from  the  world.  Yes, 

278 


THE    DEVIL 

those  whom  I  benefit  are  loyal  to  me,  indeed. 
I  have  great  faith  in  humanity. 

"I  see  much  of  the  world.  I  philosophize 
much  upon  its  tangled  affairs.  Therefore  peo- 
ple say  that  I  really  possess  wisdom.  I  am  the 
original  pragmatist.  I  am  always  ready  to  aid 
and  advise  those  who  seek  my  assistance.  You 
did  so  last  night.  Have  I  failed  you?" 

"You  gave  me  good  advice,  I  admit,  but  it 
failed." 

"Perhaps  you  came  too  late  to  me ;  your  case 
may  have  been  beyond  cure.  I  have  known  such 
instances;  they  are  very  sad.  A  great  man 
once  said  to  me  in  his  old  age,  'I  look  back  with 
horror  upon  a  well-spent  life.' ' 

"Now  you  are  talking  nonsense  again.  Are 
you  engaged  just  now  in  writing  a  book  of 
paradoxes  or  maxims?  Your  conversation 
sounds  like  it." 

"The  impudent,  the  unconventional  Vilma 
again !" 

"Yes,  the  impudent,  the  unconventional  Vilma 
again.  That's  what  I  want  to  talk  about  to  you. 
I  shan't  add  to  your  stock  of  paradoxes,  either. 
279 


THE    DEVIL 

My  talk  will  be  straight  from  the  shoulder." 
"It  seems  that  you  are  discontented  with  me. 
I  can  only  regret  that  you  believe  you  have 
cause  to  question  the  wisdom  of  my  advice. 
Pardon  me  a  moment.  Are  you  going  to  scold 
me?" 

"Most  severely." 

"Then  stand  up  and  tower  over  me,  an  image 
of  righteous  indignation.  Believe  me,  it  gives  a 
woman  a  great  advantage  over  a  man  to  be 
standing  while  he  is  sitting  down.  By-and-by, 
when  it  is  my  turn  to  speak,  I  shall  get  up 
excitedly.  You  remain  standing.  I  may  grow 
angry,  I  may  talk  in  a  loud  voice,  threateningly. 
You  will  contradict  me.  That  will  be  a  mis- 
take. When  I  am  in  full  career,  shouting  my 
side  of  the  question,  my  intolerable  wrongs,  you 
must  suddenly  plump  down  in  a  chair,  press 
your  lips  tight,  look  at  your  hands  in  your  lap, 
and  begin  to  fumble  with  your  handkerchief. 
You  may  say,  'Well !'  in  the  indescribable  voice 
reserved  by  woman  to  express  her  contempt  of 
the  irrational  male, — but  no  more.  Then  watch 
— a  woman  need  not  look  to  see — then  watch 

280 


THE    DEVIL 

me.  I  shall  look  at  you,  I  shall  become  dis- 
concerted, I  shall  begin  to  stammer.  My  elo- 
quence will  flicker  out  like  a  guttering  candle. 
I  hope  there  will  be  no  cause  for  you  to  follow 
this  advice  in  the  present  instance.  I  merely 
give  it  to  you  because  you  will  find  it  of  ines- 
timable service  in  the  management  of  men, 
especially  of  husbands." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Vilma  with 
suspicious  gravity,  "but  the  fact  is,  I  knew  all 
that  when  I  was  ten  years  old.  I  used  such 
measures  with  our  excitable  French  teacher  at 
school." 

Dr.  Nicholas  looked  just  the  least  bit  foolish. 

"To  return  to  our  subject,"  he  said  hastily, 
"what  is  your  grievance  against  me?'* 

"Last  night  you  advised  me  to  change  my 
tactics  with  Sandor,  to  be  reserved  where  I  had 
been  frank,  demure  where  I  had  been  daring, 
modest  where  I  had  been  unconventional. 
Well,  I  had  my  victory  till  we  reentered  the 
ball-room.  The  moment  our  dance  was  over,  he 
dropped  me  in  a  seat  and  hurried  back  to  the 
conservatory.  I  saw  him,  conceal  his  move- 
281 


THE    DEVIL 

merits  though  he  might.  I  was  busy  flirting 
with  the  Count,  just  to  exasperate  his  wife. 
She  thinks  that  she  can  flirt  with  everybody, 
but  that  nobody  must  flirt  with  him.  A  woman 
has  many  things  to  attend  to  at  a  ball ;  it  is  not 
all  dancing  and  thoughtless  amusement." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  do  not  take  the 
marriage  plans  made  for  you  with  undue  seri- 
ousness." 

"You  think  that  you  are  a  wise  man!  You 
flatter  yourself  that  you  know  women !  Oh,  my 
heart  was  breaking  last  night  when  I  appeared 
most  recklessly  gay." 

"Then  you  ...   ?" 

"I  have  resolved  to  return  to  my  old  tactics. 
Yours  have  failed.  I  am  the  old  Vilma  again, 
you  understand.  Impudent,  unconventional, 
emancipated.  I  will  fight  that  woman  with  her 
own  tactics.  That's  why  I  am  here." 

"I  see." 

"I  have  never  been  here  before,  you  know," 
continued  Vilma. 

"So  Andre  told  me.    He  treated  you  with  the 
respect  due  to  what  he  called  a  'real  real  lady/  ' 
282 


THE    DEVIL 

"He  treated  me  with  prudent  reserve.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  me.  He  resolved 
to  stay  on  the  fence,  so  as  to  be  safe.  It  was 
very  amusing." 

"It  was  very  daring  of  you  to  come  here  at 
all.  Poor  Andre!  A  lady  who  is  a  real  lady, 
who  announces  that  she  is  not  married,  and 
who  yet  arrives  without  maid  or  chaperon — 
what  was  he  to  make  of  that?" 

"I  came  here  without  a  chaperon  because  she 
will  come  without  a  maid.  I  shall  place  myself 
upon  even  terms  with  her." 

"But  she  will  come  often.  You  know,  Sandor 
is  going  to  paint  her  portrait." 

"I  want  Sandor  to  paint  mine,  and  so  I  shall 
come  every  day." 

"You  mean  that  you  want  to  come  here  every 
day,  and  so  you  are  going  to  have  Sandor  paint 
your  portrait?" 

"You  are  impudent.  I  once  boxed  the  ears 
of  a  man  who  kissed  me." 

"I  once  kissed  a  lady  who  boxed  my  ears." 

"You  are  just  like  a  dancing  master,"  said 
Vilma,  lifting  her  little  nose  disdainfully. 
283 


THE    DEVIL 

"  'Forward — backward.'  I  hope  it  amuses  you. 
I  am  serious.  I'll  be  here  every  day,  alone  with 
him.  I'll  make  him  look  at  me,  I'll  make  him 
see  me,  I'll  talk  to  him,  I'll  make  love  to  him, 
and — I  shall  win." 

"You  will  lose.  Last  night  I  had  high  hopes 
of  being  able  to  help  you.  I  had  the  utmost 
confidence  in  the  advice  I  gave  you,  but  now. 
.  .  .  Well,  I  confess  that  I  am  defeated.  I  shall 
depart  in  an  hour  or  so  a  much  disappointed 
man." 

"You  really  believe  that  ?"  Vilma  looked  dis- 
couraged. 

Dr.  Nicholas  reached  into  his  pocket,  and 
produced  the  vanity  case. 

"You  need  not  fear,"  said  the  girl  scornfully. 
"I  am  not  going  to  cry  " 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  women  who  cry.  It  is 
the  perfectly  happy  women  I  am  afraid  of. 
They  do  not  want  me  around." 

"Well,  I  shall  win." 

"My  dear  young  lady,  believe  me,  you  will 
lose.  I  have  acknowledged  my  defeat.  I  can 
do  nothing  more.  Events  must  take  their 

284 


THE    DEVIL 

course.  My  advice  to  you  now,  which  you  will 
not  take,  of  course,  is  to  go  away  and  never 
come  back.  Sandor  loves  that  other  woman — 
wait  a  moment — he  loves  her  within  the  bounds 
of  the  most  scrupulous  esteem." 

"I  know  those  bounds  of  scrupulous  esteem. 
It  is  the  esteem  with  which  I  shall  inspire  him 
that  will  bring  me  victory." 

"Your  coming  here  will  make  him  suspect 
that  you  come  to  catch  a  husband." 

"It  is  true.    I  love  the  truth." 

"A  weakness  of  the  young,  that  is.  What 
would  become  of  social  life  without  lies?  Men 
and  women  are  so  much  alike  that  existence 
would  become  a  bore  if  they  all  fell  to  telling 
each  other  the  same  truth,  day  after  day." 

"Now  you  are  manufacturing  more  epigrams. 
This  is  very  serious  to  me,  Doctor  Nicholas.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind." 

Vilma  got  up  impatiently,  and  began  to  move 
about  the  room,  Inspecting  its  ornaments  and 
knicknacks,  recognizing  their  value,  straighten- 
ing a  vase  here,  a  little  bronze  there,  paying 
attention  to  the  details  before  judging  the  effect 
285 


THE    DEVIL 

of  the  whole,  as  is  a  woman's  way.    She  nodded 
her  head  approvingly,  and  said : 

"A  very  nice  room,  just  what  an  artist's 
apartment  should  be.  Beautiful  things,  and 
good  taste  in  the  arrangement." 

She  wandered  farther  away,  Dr.  Nicholas 
standing  beside  the  fire,  in  his  favorite  attitude, 
caressing  his  chin,  and  watching  her  closely. 
The  portrait  of  Fanny  on  its  easel  attracted 
her  attention,  and  she  stood  contemplating 
it  for  a  little  while,  her  head  a  little  on  one 
side. 

"Good  brush  work,"  she  commented  briefly. 
"I  have  seen  that  face  before." 

"It  is  a  capital  picture,"  answered  Dr.  Nich- 
olas, craftily. 

"Now,  where  have  I  seen  that  face  before?" 

"I  believe  it  has  been  reproduced  in  the  illus- 
trated papers." 

The  girl  turned  upon  him.  and  stamped  her 
foot. 

"Who  is  she?"  she  asked  imperiously. 

"Oh,  I  did  not  catch  the  drift  of  your  ques- 
tion." 

286 


THE    DEVIL 

"My  questions  do  not  drift,  they  go  right  to 
the  point." 

"Well,  then,  that  is  the  famous  Fanny." 

"Fanny  the  model!     I  might  have  known." 

She  studied  the  painting  intently,  then  said 
slowly : 

"So  there  are  three  of  us.  I  had  forgotten 
that." 

"Poor  Fanny,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas.  "Oh,  yes, 
she,  too,  loves  him.  She  has  been  waiting  in 
that  room  over  there  since  early  this  morning 
to  see  him.  All  she  can  do  is  to  count  his  hand- 
kerchiefs and  mend  his  socks.  She  is  not  intel- 
lectual, you  know,  not  educated.  That  is  her 
way  of  showing  her  love,  of  serving  him.  The 
only  way  she  knows.  She  gives  all  she  has  to 
give  gladly,  without  reserve,  and — without 
hope.  It  is  touching." 

"Fanny  is  a  bad  woman." 

"Indeed,  she  is  not.  She  is  merely  a 
thoughtless  one,  but  she  is  good.  You 
say  you  will  win;  I  advise  you  to  renounce. 
And  Fanny  is  a  good  example  of  resignation. 
You  should  see  her.  It  can  do  you  no  harm, 
287 


THE    DEVIL 

you   are   so   far  above  her;   it  may   do   you 
good." 

"I  will  see  her." 

Dr.  Nicholas  softly  stepped  across  the  room, 
opened  the  door  into  the  inner  apartment,  and 
said: 

"Good  morning,  Fanny.  There  is  someone 
here  who  wishes  to  talk  to  you." 

Fanny  entered,  pale,  haggard,  with  swollen 
eyes,  humbly,  deprecatingly.  One  eager  look 
around  showed  her  that  it  was  not  Sandor  who 
wished  to  see  her.  Dr.  Nicholas,  humming 
softly  Dalla  sua  pace  to  himself,  slipped  behind 
her  through  the  door  he  had  just  opened,  and 
closed  it  behind  him,  leaving  the  two  women 
alone. 

The  model  advanced,  and  dropped  a  little 
curtsey.  Vilma  looked  at  her.  She  was  very 
handsome,  very  dark,  very  plump,  restless  in 
her  movements,  but  graceful  withal.  And — 
yes,  Dr.  Nicholas  was  right,  she  was  a  good 
girl.  Her  face  showed  that. 

"You  wish  to  see  me,  Madame?"  asked  Fanny 
curiously. 

288 


THE    DEVIL 

"Yes.    You  are  Fanny,  are  you  not?" 

"I  am  Fanny  the  model.  Are  you  waiting  to 
see  Monsieur  Sandor,  too?" 

Vilma  ignored  the  question. 

"Why  do  you  call  me  Madame?" 

"I  see  you  are  here  alone,  unchaperoned. 
You  are  not  a  model,  everybody  can  see  that,  so 
I  thought  you  were  a  married  lady." 

She  added,  with  the  unembarrassed  inquisi- 
tiveness  of  her  class: 

"Are  you  going  to  have  your  portrait 
painted?" 

"Perhaps.    My  name  is  Vilma  Toth." 

"Oh!  I  have  heard  of  you.  You  are  very 
rich,  are  you  not?  And  you  are  going  to  marry 
Sandor." 

The  tears  rolled  down  Fanny's  cheeks.  She 
let  them  fall  without  attempt  to  hide  them.  She 
had  no  false  notions  of  dignity. 

"He  has  sent  me  away,"  she  sobbed,  "now 
that  he  is  going  to  marry  you." 

Vilma's  proud  spirit  revolted.    No,  she  would 
not  marry  him,  she  would  not  stoop  to  this  laby- 
rinth of  rivalry — three  women  competing  for  a 
289 


THE    DEVIL 

man!  She  blushed  as  the  situation  suddenly 
revealed  itself  to  her.  Why  had  she  come? 
Had  Dr.  Nicholas's  advice  to  her  of  the  night 
before  been  right,  after  all?  Had  he  foreseen 
her  renunciation  the  moment  she  had  come,  full 
of  her  plan,  confident  of  its  success? 

She  saw  the  vanity  case  which  the  Doctor  had 
placed  upon  the  table  a  moment  ago ;  she  took  it 
with  a  whimsical  smile,  and  seated  herself. 

"Sit  down,  Fanny,"  she  said. 

She  opened  the  dainty  case,  admiring  it  the 
while,  took  out  the  handkerchief,  another  one, 
neatly  pressed  and  folded — wonderful  man, 
that  Dr.  Nicholas!  she  reflected, — and  gravely 
handed  it  to  Fanny,  who  dabbed  her  eyes  with 
it  convulsively. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Mademoiselle  Fanny," 
she  announced. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know?"  Fanny's 
blunt  directness  was  disconcerting.  How  did 
people  get  along  with  each  other  in  her  circle, 
Vilma  wondered.  The  model  continued,  with- 
out stopping  to  take  breath: 

"I'll  tell  you  everything  about  myself.  I'm 
290 


THE    DEVIL 

not  ashamed,  I've  no  reason  to  be.  I  earn  my 
bread  by  hard,  honest  work.  I  am  an  artist, 
too,  you  know.  First  I  sang  in  the  chorus,  then 
I  did  a  turn  in  a  Tingeltangel — a  music-hall, 
you  know.  Oh,  nothing  great.  I  was  not  a 
star.  There  I  got  acquainted  with  a  dry-goods 
clerk,  who  told  me  he  was  a  member  of  the 
firm.  He  was  a  snappy  dresser,  and  I  thought 
he  was  the  real  thing.  I  had  no  experience 
then,  you  see.  Now  I  know  better.  I  was 
always  falling  in  love  in  those  days.  It's  my 
artistic  temperament.  I  know  that  it  is,  for  a 
gentleman  friend  told  me  so.  He  owned  a 
boiler  factory.  Then  Sandor  saw  me,  and  said 
I  must  pose  for  him.  That's  the  picture  over 
there.  They  called  it  'A  Daughter  of  the  Pusta.' 
It's  for  sale  in  all  the  picture  shops,  in  beauti- 
ful frames,  with  red,  white,  and  green  ribbons 
at  the  top.  Sandor  says  it's  a  shame  that  they 
treat  it  like  a  chromo,  but  I  don't  see  it.  I'm 
very  proud  of  it." 

Vilma  sat  silent  under  this  torrent  of  revela- 
tion of  a  side  of  life  that  had  been  carefully 
kept  from  her. 

291 


THE    DEVIL 

"That  was  three  years  ago,"  continued 
Fanny.  "The  picture  made  Sandor  famous. 
Andre  thinks  it's  his  ugly  face  that  did  it, 
but  I  know  better.  He's  jealous  of  me,  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  him.  Well,  Sandor  was 
very  good  to  me,  he  let  me  take  care  of  his 
things.  Men  are  so  helpless  without  a  woman 
to  look  after  them." 

"Is  that  part  of  a  model's  duties?"  asked 
Vilma,  from  the  depth  of  her  amazement. 

"If  she's  an  artist's  real  model,  she  looks 
after  his  collars  and  cuffs  and  handkerchiefs 
and  things.  Andre  was  always  trying  to  tell 
me  to  butt  out,  but  he  was  afraid  to  say  too 
much.  He  knew  better.  Sandor  was  always 
praising  me,  and  always  painting  me,  whenever 
he  had  no  sitters  that  paid.  I  was  so  h — h — 
happy,  and  then  .  .  .  four  weeks  ago  ...  he 
began  .  .  .  painting  landscapes.  ...  I  knew 
what  that  meant.  Oh!  Oh!" 

Vilma  hastily  handed  her  the  powder  puff, 
the  little  mirror,  and  then  tumbled  the  case  into 
her  lap. 

"Isn't  that  a  beautiful  thing?"  she  asked. 
292 


THE    DEVIL 

Fanny  forgot  her  grief,  and  fell  to  admiring 
the  jewel-studded  bauble  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"It's   nice  to  be  rich,"  she  sighed. 
Vflma   rejoiced  to  see  that  her  stratagem 
had    averted   a   storm,   wondering  the   while 
at   the   primitive   simplicity   of  this   strange 
woman's     emotional    processes.      Aloud    she 
said: 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,  but  it  isn't  mine, 
you  know.    It  belongs  to  Dr.  Nicholas." 

"The  gentleman  who  was  here?    I  know  him. 
Isn't  he  grand?    He  was  very  kind  to  me,  and 
made  me  feel  better." 
"Did  he?" 

"Yes,  he  gave  me  tea  with  a  little  rum.  and 
some  sandwiches.  Have  you  never  noticed 
what  a  difference  it  makes  when  you're  sad, 
and  you  eat  a  hearty  meal?  I  once  went  to  a 
funeral,  and  it  was  very  sad.  The  cemetery 
was  a  long  way  off,  and  we  grew  sadder  and 
sadder — a  sinking  feeling,  you  know.  Well, 
when  we  got  back  to  the  house,  late  in  the  after- 
noon, everybody  was  miserable.  Then  we  had 
a  good  meal — govlash  and  pancakes,  and  wine, 
293 


THE    DEVIL 

and  coffee.  When  it  was  over  we  all  felt  quite 
cheerful  again.  We'd  quite  forgotten  the 
dear  departed.  It's  very  strange,"  mused 
Fanny  in  conclusion,  holding  up  the  vanity 
case  in  her  well-made,  muscular  hand,  and  mak- 
ing the  jewels  sparkle. 

Vilma  mused  a  little.  Might  this  be  her  rem- 
edy, too?  Her  instinctive  aloofness  thawed  a 
little,  she  was  now  strangely  interested  in  this 
unknown  type. 

"Was  that  all  Dr.  Nicholas  did  for  you  ?"  she 
asked. 

Fanny  looked  angry,  then  subsided. 

"Of  course  it  wasn't,"  she  explained  pains- 
takingly, in  the  face  of  such  rudeness.  "What 
do  you  take  me  for?  He  spoke  beautifully  to 
me.  He  told  me  that  I  would  forget  Sandor  in 
six  weeks,  and  that  I  would  be  very  happy  with 
a  young  poet.  He  is  going  to  put  me  into  a 
book  of  poems,  just  as  Sandor  put  me  into  his 
picture.  He  knows  everything,  the  Doctor 
does.  Is  he  a  doctor?  Is  he  married?  I  went 
out  to  dinner  with  him  last  night — the  poet,  I 
mean.  I  like  him  very  much  already.  We  had 
294 


THE    DEVIL 

a  real  good  time  together.    And  Sandor  cam» 
to  see  me  later,  and  it  was  very  sad." 

Vilma  choked.  What,  last  night!  And  then 
he  had  come  to  the  ball,  to  her.  .  .  .  The  indig- 
nity of  it !  She  felt  as  if  she  never  could  face 
Sandor  again. 

"And  so,"  Fanny  continued,  "I  have  given 
him  up.    I  came  here  to-day  to  tell  him  that  it 
was  all  over,  that  he  must  not  worry  over  me." 
"You  can  give  him  up  like  that?" 
"What  can  I  do?    When  a  man  quits  loving  a 
woman  she  might  as  well  give  up.    We  must  be 
fair.     I've  been  fickle,  and  thrown  men  over 
who  loved  me.    Now  it's  my  turn.    That's  life. 
Don't  you  know  it?" 

Vilma  thought  of  her  two  reckless  flirtations, 
of  her  many  little  games  of  make-believe  that 
had  net  always  been  so  harmless  in  their  effect 
as  she  could  have  wished,  and  kept  silent. 
Fanny  closed  the  vanity  box  with  a  snap. 
"You  great  ladies,"  she  summed  up  judicious- 
ly, "think  that  love  must  last  as  long  as  we 
women  would  like  to  have  it.    Love  is  like  a 
railway,  and  you  only  know  two  points  along 
295 


THE    DEVIL 

the  line.  Once  you  get  on  board,  you  want  to 
travel  by  express,  without  stop  until  the  end  is 
reached.  But  with  us  women  of  artistic  tem- 
perament it's  different.  We  are  the  small  sta- 
tions by  the  way:  the  train  stops  a  moment, 
then  it's  off  again.  Occasionally  it's  an  eating 
station,  and  the  train  stops  a  little  longer.  But 
not  so  very  long.  We  never  get  to  be  the  big 
stations  where  the  train  stops  for  good.  I 
should  say  it  would  be  tiresome,  after  a  while. 
It's  nice  to  change  from  time  to  time." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?" 

"Because  I'm  a  fool.  I  made  up  my  mind 
last  night,  I  changed  it  this  morning,  I've 
made  it  up  again.  I'll  not  see  him.  I'll  not  wait 
for  him. 

"It  has  been  such  a  consolation  to  talk  it  all 
over  with  you,  Mademoiselle,"  she  continued, 
rising,  buttoning  her  jacket,  and  straightening 
her  coquettish  little  toque  in  the  Venetian  mir- 
ror. "You've  given  me  such  good  advice,  just 
like  the  Doctor,  in  there." 

"I  have  not  said  a  word." 

"No?  Well,  anyhow,  you've  helped  me  to 
296 


THE    DEVIL 

think  it  all  out.  I  talked  it  over  with  the  poet, 
too.  He  said  it  was  my  duty,  since  you  are 
going  to  marry  ..." 

"You  dared  to  talk  about  me?" 

"Everybody  knows  you  are  going  to  marry 
Sandor.  They  say  it's  a  great  match  for  him." 

"Everybody  is  mistaken." 

Vilma  was  on  the  verge  of  hysterics.  Humili- 
ation was  piled  on  humiliation.  What!  She 
had  waded  so  deep  into  the  mire  to  win  this 
man — unconscious  of  it  all. 

"You  had  better  go  now,"  she  said  haughtily. 

Fanny,  busy  with  her  glove,  did  not  notice 
the  tone  of  her  voice.  She  was  not  observant. 

"You  have  done  so  much  for  me,"  she  said 
serenely  unconscious,  "and  we  are  such  very 
good  friends  now,  that  I  will  do  something  for 
you  in  return. 

"Don't  marry  him,"  she  continued  impres- 
sively. "He  don't  love  you.  With  all  your 
money  you'd  never  be  happy  with  him.  It's 
wiser  to  marry  the  man  who  loves  you  than 
to  marry  the  man  you  love.  I  know.  My 
mother  told  me  that,  long  ago.  I'm  not  jealous 
297 


THE    DEVIL 

of  you,  I'm  jealous  of  that  other  woman, 
Madame  .  .  ." 

"Don't  mention  her  name,"  cried  Vilma,  ap- 
palled. 

"So  then  you  know  about  her.  I'm  jealous 
of  her,  and  so  are  you.  You  think  you  can  take 
him  away  from  her,  but  you  can't.  Give  him 
up,  just  like  me.  He's  not  worth  it.  No  man 
is.  Go  away,  travel;  you're  rich.  I  must  stay 
here,  and  fight  it  out.  You  can  run  away,  and 
that's  far  easier." 

Vilma  had  grown  deadly  pale. 

"Are  you  going?"  she  asked.  "No,  I  am  not 
angry  with  you.  You  have  rendered  me  a  serv- 
ice— but  go,  go  at  once." 

Fanny  dropped  her  curtsey,  and  left  the 
room. 

Vilma  Toth  slowly  drew  on  her  gloves.  She 
looked  around  her,  hesitated  a  moment  when 
her  eye  fell  on  the  door  through  which  the  Doc- 
tor had  disappeared,  as  if  she  would  call  him  to 
say  good-by  to  him, — perhaps  to  tell  him  that 
he  had  been  right  after  all, — changed  her  mind, 
moved  slowly  to  the  entrance,  and  softly  closed 

298 


THE    DEVIL 

the  door  upon  all  the  hopes  of  happiness  which 
she  had  lost. 

No  sooner  was  she  gone,  than  Dr.  Nicholas 
rose  from  the  depths  of  the  Gothic  chair. 

"Desperate  cases  require  desperate  reme- 
dies," he  chuckled  to  himself.  "She  was  dan- 
gerous, she  might  really  have  defeated  me  in 
the  end.  Now  that  the  field  is  cleared,  it  is  time 
for  the  last  act.  What  a  blunderer  you  are,  Dr. 
Nicholas;  and  you  know  nothing  of  women." 


299 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  DEVIL'S  VICTORY 

THE  bell  rang.  Andre  came  hurrying 
through  the  room,  disappeared  in  the  hall,  and 
returned  after  a  moment. 

"I  have  heard  that  bell  tingling  constantly 
this  morning,  Andre/'  said  Dr.  Nicholas.  "I 
hope  it  has  not  disturbed  Monsieur  Tatray. 
Who  is  the  insistent  caller?" 

"It  is  Madame  Voross's  maid,  sir.  She  came 
first  at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  told  her  that  Monsieur 
Tatray  had  come  home  late  from  the  ball,  and 
had  left  orders  not  to  be  called  before  half-past 
two.  Since  then  she  has  returned  four  times." 

"Is  Monsieur  Tatray  awake?" 

"Yes,  sir,  he  is  dressing.  It  is  nearly  three 
o'clock  now." 

"Have  you  packed  my  bag?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well,  Andre.  Will  you  make  me  some 
300 


THE    DEVIL 

tea,  and  bring  it  to  Monsieur  Tatray's  bed- 
room? I  will  come  to  see  him  in  a  moment. 
I  am  going  into  the  studio  to  smoke  a  cigarette, 
and  take  a  last  look  at  this  beautiful  city." 

Dr.  Nicholas  lighted  a  cigarette,  took  a  few 
slow,  grateful  puffs,  then  went  into  the  studio, 
leaving  a  thin  thread  of  bluish  gray  in  his  wake. 

As  he  closed  the  glass  door  behind  him,  the 
bell  rang  again.  He  hastened  away  to  the  other 
end  of  the  studio,  sat  down  in  one  of  the  large 
Venetian  chairs  there,  and  looked  with  enjoy- 
ment upon  the  snow-covered  city,  the  ice-clad 
Donau,  and  the  monumental  bridge  linking 
Buda  to  Pesth. 

Andre,  meanwhile,  had  once  more  hurried, 
grumbling,  to  the  outer  door,  and  opened  it. 
This  time  it  was  not  the  maid,  but  her  mistress. 

Jolan  entered  unhesitatingly,  and  walked 
straight  into  the  den,  the  servant  following  her. 

"Your  master  is  at  home?"  she  asked  curtly. 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Has  he  seen  anyone  this  morning?" 

"No,  Madame." 

301 


THE    DEVIL 

"Has  a  letter  been  delivered  for  him?" 

"No,  Madame." 

Jolan  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then  she  con- 
tinued : 

"My  maid  brought  word  that  he  would  be  up 
by  three  o'clock.  It  is  three  now.  Tell  him  that 
I  wish  to  see  him." 

"He  is  dressing  now,  Madame." 

"Has  he  been  asleep  ever  since  he  came  home 
from  the  ball?" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Did  he  come  home  alone?" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Not  with  Doctor  Nicholas?" 

"No,  Madame.  Dr.  Nicholas  came  home 
much  later.  He  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all." 

"Is  Doctor  Nicholas  here?"  Jolan  felt  a 
sinking  of  the  heart. 

"Yes,  Madame.    He  is  in  the  studio  now." 

"Has  he  given  you  no  letter  to  deliver  to 
Monsieur  Tatray?" 

"No,  Madame.    He  said  just  now  that  he  was 
going  to  visit  Monsieur  in  his  bedroom." 
302 


THE    DEVIL 

"Tell  him  that  I  wish  to  see  him  at  once — at 
once,  do  you  hear?  Before  he  sees  Monsieur 
Tatray.  Don't  tell  him  who  it  is  that  wishes 
to  see  him." 

"Very  well,  Madame." 

Andre  hurried  into  the  studio.  Dr.  Nicholas 
emerged  from  it  a  moment  later.  He  gave  a 
start  of  surprise  and  said : 

"What!  You  are  the  mysterious  lady  who 
must  speak  to  me  at  once,  right  now  ?" 

Jolan  did  not  notice  that  he  took  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  ceremoniously.  Anxiety  tore  at 
her  heart. 

"Always  your  servant,"  murmured  the  Doc- 
tor. 

"Tell  me  at  once — look  me  in  the  eyes — tell 
me  truth.  That  letter?  Did  you  deliver  it?" 

"I  gave  it  to  Sandor  a  moment  ago,  as  soon 
as  I  could  see  him." 
Jolan  groaned. 

"Did  he  read  it?"  She  gasped  out  the  words, 
her  throat  contracted,  her  brain  reeling,  her 

knees  trembling  with  misery. 
303 


THE    DEVIL 

"He  read  it." 

"And — and — what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  nothing.  He  read  it,  then  he  read 
it  again.  He  looked  at  me,  but  did  not  see  me, 
he  gazed  at  something  far,  far  away.  He  saw 
it  come  nearer,  nearer,  he  stretched  out  his 
arms,  laughing  with  triumphant  joy.  Then  he 
dropped  them,  empty,  at  his  sides.  After  a 
while  he  spoke.  'Do  you  know  what  is  in  this 
letter?'  he  asked  me.  I  said  No,  of  course.  I 
told  him  that  I  had  merely  been  requested  to 
hand  it  to  him.  'Something  about  the  portrait, 
no  doubt?'  I  added.  Oh,  you  are  safe  with  me. 
I  have  been  very  discreet." 

"And  then?" 

"He  cast  himself  down  upon  the  bed,  buried 
his  face  in  the  pillows,  and  sobbed.  I  withdrew 
softly.  I  knew  that  he  would  not  wish  me  to 
witness  his  emotion." 

"He  sobbed,"  murmured  Jolan  pitifully  to 
herself. 

"Yes,  he  sobbed,  but  it  was  not  all  despair. 
There  was  the  ecstasy  of  joy  in  it,  as  well  as 
304 


THE    DEVIL 

the  hopeless  grief  of  irretrievable  loss.  It  was 
a  good  letter,  merciful,  generous,  yet  firm,  un- 
mistakable in  its  finality." 

"I  came  here  to  ask  you  not  to  deliver  that 
letter  to  him.  I  have  come  too  late — too  late. 

"Is  this  life  of  ours  so  ordered?"  she  con- 
tinued wistfully  to  herself.  "Happiness — un- 
happiness,  do  these  things  depend  upon  our 
coming  five  minutes  before  or  five  minutes  after 
three  o'clock?" 

"It  is  even  so.  One  minute  between  ecstasy 
and  despair,  between  gain  and  loss,  between  life 
and  death,  between  eternity  and  annihilation." 

"Too  late!"  Jolan  repeated.  "I  did  not  sleep 
all  night.  I  felt  that  I  must  wake,  that  I  must 
watch,  lest  you  would  give  him  the  letter  while 
I  slept.  I  believed  that  you  would  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  my  will,  my  wish,  my  hope !  Oh !  You 
knew  that  I  did  not  intend  him  to  have  it,  to 
read  it!  I  asked  you  to  return  it  to  me  last 
night,  and  you — you  pretended  to  misunder- 
stand me,  you  threatened  to  give  it  to  my  hus- 
band! What  is  it  you  wish  of  me?  It  is  always 
305 


THE    DEVIL 

you,  you,  since  you  have  come  into  my  life — 
always  you  who  lure  and  forbid,  who  tempt  and 
withhold,  who  order  and  direct;  and  I — I  do 
your  bidding,  with  no  will  of  my  own,  no 
choice !" 

"Madame  Voross,  I  have  acted  as  I  consid- 
ered best.  I  stumbled  into  this  without  desire 
of  my  own ;  I  saw  the  situation,  I  acted  for  you, 
for  him." 

"Yesterday  you  tempted  us,  you  showed  us 
the  road  to  our  earthly  paradise.  To-day  you 
bar  us  from  it." 

"Yesterday  I  thought  that  I  had  found  two 
strong  souls,  daring  to  stand  up  before  the 
world  and  defy  it — two  passions  great  enough, 
high  enough,  deep  enough  to  risk  all.  I,  too, 
saw  your  earthly  paradise,  I  led  you  to  its  gates, 
I  opened  your  eyes  that  you  might  see  and 
know.  I  saw  his  highest  inspiration  in  your 
eyes,  its  supreme  fulfilment  blazing  in  his.  I 
thought  I  had  found  two  master  minds,  and 
endeavored  to  lead  them. 

"Then  came  the  reaction.  Honor,  respect. 
306 


THE    DEVIL 

.  .  .  Faugh !  All  the  rigamarole  of  small  souls 
that  dare  not  rely  upon  themselves,  that  live 
only  on  the  consent,  the  approbation  of  the 
weak-minded  mob — two  timid,  weakly  loves 
that  put  self  above  happiness,  and  hid  their 
fear  and  their  small  egoism  behind  empty- 
sounding  phrases.  I  tempted  and  withheld,  you 
say?  You  both  did  that  yourselves. 

"And  so  I  resolved  to  undo  what  I  had  begun. 
That  is  the  secret  of  the  letter  which  I  dictated 
to  you.  It  contains  the  whole  story  of  your 
small  passion,  its  puny  strength,  and  the  meas- 
ure of  its  weakness,  its  cowardice.  You  con- 
fessed in  it,  and  in  the  same  breath  denied; 
you  proffered  and  withheld,  you  tempted  and 
repulsed.  And  as  I  put  all  of  you  into  that 
letter,  so  did  I  put  into  it  all  of  him.  He  would 
take  his  own,  yet  dares  not.  Thus  shall  you 
pass  your  lives,  desiring  yet  fearing,  unhappy, 
but — respected.  Oh,  yes,  respected !  That  will 
be  your  consolation — yours  and  his.  That  man 
in  there,  sobbing  softly,  is  the  symbol  of  both 
your  incomplete  existences  apart." 
307 


THE    DEVIL 

Sandor  entered.    Dr.  Nicholas  moved  away. 

"Stay,  stay!"  implored  Jolan.  "What  shall 
I  do?" 

"You  have  chosen,  abide  by  your  decision. 
You  are  too  puny,  both  of  you,  to  soar  to  the 
heights.  You  are  the  honest  wife,  he  is  the 
platonic  admirer.  That  is  your  measure." 

He  moved  away  into  the  studio.  Sandor  did 
not  look  at  him;  his  eyes  were  riveted  on 
Jolan. 

"You  have  come,"  he  stammered,  "after  what 
happened  last  night.  Oh,  Jolan,  I  should 
kneel  at  your  feet,  and  ask  your  pardon — you, 
whom  I  honor  above  all  other  women." 

"Do  not  reproach  yourself,  Sandor,"  she  an- 
swered with  infinite  tenderness.  "It  was  I  who 
made  you  do  it.  I  was  weary  of  sorrow,  of 
uncertainty.  I  must  know.  I  was  mad  with 
jealousy.  I  must  know  that  you  loved  me  as  I 
had  dreamt  you  did  all  these  years,  not  with  the 
pale  respect  of  our  pretense,  but  with  the  over- 
powering passion  of  a  strong  man.  I  exulted 
when  your  jealousy  flamed  up,  I  gloried  in  that 

308 


THE    DEVIL 

terrible  suspicion,  because  it  told  me  all,  all 
that  I  wished  to  know." 

"Jolan!  Jolan!"  Sandor  grasped  her  hand 
and  covered  it  with  kisses,  his  eyes  shining 
with  a  happiness  far  beyond  words. 

"So  much  has  happened  to  us  during  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  Sandor.  There  are  years, 
centuries,  in  which  nothing  happens,  and  there 
are  days,  like  yesterday,  into  which  a  whole  life- 
time is  compressed.  Ah,  dearest,  my  king,  at 
last  we  know." 

Sandor  attempted  to  draw  her  to  him,  but 
she  loosened  her  hand  from  his  grasp,  and  con- 
tinued falteringly: 

"It  was  bound  to  come,  Sandor;  even  though 
we  lose  each  other  forever,  we  have  loved,  we 
have  confessed,  we  have  gazed  into  each  other's 
eyes.  I  caused  the  flame  to  leap  into  life  in 
yours,  I  saw  it,  it  warmed  my  heart,  so  cold,  so 
desolate,  so  lonely  all  these  years  without  you! 
And  now,  my  own,  we  must  pay  ...  we  must 
part.  .  .  ." 

She  faltered,  hiding  her  face  with  both  her 
309 


THE    DEVIL 

hands.    From  behind  them  she  continued  brok- 
enly: 

"It  must  be  ...  we  must  .  .  .  honor  .  .  . 
duty.  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  she  cried  out: 

"No!  No!  I  cannot  give  you  up!  Sandor, 
Sandor,  I  love  you !" 

Half  fainting,  she  sank  into  his  arms,  lifting 
her  distorted  face  to  his.  She  clasped  his  head 
in  both  her  hands,  drew  it  down  to  her.  .  .  . 
Their  lips  met  at  last.  Thus  they  remained  a 
long,  sweet  moment,  motionless,  silent. 

Jolan  suddenly  remembered. 

"Dr.  Nicholas,"  she  whispered.  "There,  in 
the  studio." 

They  drew  apart,  smiling  at  each  other,  their 
hands  parting  reluctantly. 

"Dear,  what  did  you  think  when  you  received 
my  letter?  Had  you  an  idea  of  what  it  con- 
tained? I  tried  to  intercept  it.  That  is  why  I 
came." 

"Your  letter?  What  letter?"  asked  Sandor, 
puzzled. 

310 


THE    DEVIL 

"The  letter  I  wrote  last  night." 

"I  know  nothing  of  it,  Jolan.  I  did  not  re- 
ceive it.  What  does  it  matter?" 

"You  need  not  pretend  that  you  have  not 
received  it,"  she  cooed,  fondly  touching  his  arm. 
"My  generous  lover!  I  am  no  longer  ashamed 
of  it,  I  no  longer  regret  it,  since  it  has  brought 
us  together.  Oh,  how  I  suffered  after  I  had 
written  it,  how  I  wished  that  I  could  recall  it! 
But  now  .  .  .  Let  us  read  it  together." 

"I  swear  to  you,  Jolan,  that  I  know  nothing  of 
this  letter.  I  never  read  it,  I  never  saw  it.  .  .  ." 

"You  say  it  was  not  delivered  to  you?  I  gave 
it  to  Doctor  Nicholas  last  night,  and  he  told  me 
just  now  .  .  ." 

"That  man!  Always  that  man!"  exclaimed 
Sandor  furiously.  "Who  is  he?  What  is  he? 
He  appears  in  everything,  with  his  well-bred 
impertinence  and  his  smiling  air.  Oh,  but  he 
shall  leave  my  house  at  once!" 

Jolan   had  stepped  to  the  studio  door  and 
opened  it.    Dr.  Nicholas  discreetly  entered  the 
room.    She  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 
311 


THE    DEVIL 

"My  letter,"  she  said  briefly. 

She  glanced  at  him  sharply,  searchingly. 
His  face  wore  a  look  of  serene  innocence. 

"I  must  humbly  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said 
smoothly.  "I  forgot  all  about  it  ...  I  did 
not  remember  where  I  had  put  it,  and  told  you 
a  fib  when  you  asked  me  about  it.  I  did  not 
wish  you  to  believe  that  I  had  been  negligent  in 
carrying  out  your  command.  Just  now  I  found 
it  in  my  dress-coat.  Here  it  is." 

Jolan  was  still  studying  his  face,  trying  to 
read  his  thought,  his  intention.  Sandor,  struck 
by  the  intensity  of  her  attitude,  restrained  his 
rising  temper,  and  watched. 

Dr.  Nicholas  advanced  into  the  room,  and 
continued : 

"Happily  there  are  letters  which  there  is  no 
necessity  of  delivering.  This,  I  believe,  is  one 
of  them.  You  wrote  it,  you  did  not  wish  San- 
dor  to  see  it.  I  knew  both  these  things  .  .  . 
yet  I  succeeded  in  making  it  serve  its  purpose." 

Jolan  gazed  at  him  intently,  wonderingly, 
with  suspicion,  yet  with  unwilling  admiration. 

312 


THE    DEVIL 

"Now  I  see,"  she  said  slowly,  ponderingly. 

"I  wonder  if  you  do  ...  even  now,"  said  Dr. 
Nicholas  enigmatically.  He  smiled  a  little  to 
himself. 

"But,  since  the  letter  has  been  found,"  he 
concluded,  "I  will  fulfill  my  commission." 

He  took  the  well-filled  envelope  out  of  his 
breast  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Sandor. 

"No!"  cried  Jolan,  "Do  not  open  it,  do  not 
read  it!  Tear  it  up!  Throw  it  into  the 
fire!" 

Sandor  approached  the  hearth,  and  obeyed 
her  implicitly.  Then,  turning  to  Dr.  Nicholas, 
he  said  shortly,  rudely, 

"Are  you  going?" 

"My  train  leaves  at  four."  He  consulted  his 
watch.  "Fifteen  minutes  more,  and  then  I  will 
take  my  leave.  Madame,  I  must  again  express 
my  regret  for  the  discomfort  I  have  caused  you 
by  my  neglect.  The  letter  might  have  fallen 
into  other  hands  .  .  ." 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  question  the  contents 
of  that  letter,"  broke  in  Sandor,  now  seriously 
313 


THE    DEVIL 

angry,  "or  this  lady's  motives  in  writing  it.  I 
am  bound  to  her  by  ties  of  the  purest  respect. 
There  was  nothing  in  that  letter  to  justify  you 
in  speaking  as  you  did.  Anyone  could  see  it. 
It  was  just  an  ordinary,  everyday  letter.  No 
one  knows  that  better  than  yourself." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Dr.  Nicholas 
quietly.  "I  am  sorry  to  have  seemed  to  ques- 
tion its  contents.  It  was  not  my  intention,  but 
I  apologize." 

"You  will  be  late  for  your  train,"  said  San- 
dor. 

"Once  more,  my  excuses.  Do  not  accompany 
me,  I  beg  of  you.  Andre  can  see  me  to  the  door. 
Good-bye." 

He  bowed  again,  then  turned  and  went  out 
into  the  hall.  The  moment  the  door  had  closed 
Jolan  softly  nestled  in  Sandor's  arms,  her  head 
against  his  breast. 

"I  am  sorry  after  all,"  she  said,  "that  he 
failed  to  deliver  that  letter.  I  would  give  a 
great  deal  if  I  could  conjure  it  up  from  the 
ashes." 

314 


THE    DEVIL 

"But  what  was  in  this  mysterious  letter?" 

"The  history  of  all  our  love,  Sandor,  of  all 
our  sorrows,  of  all  our  longings.  All  my  life, 
and  yours.  ...  All  but  this  ending,  which  is 
the  true  beginning.  .  .  ." 

"And  now,"  she  continued  dreamily,  pressing 
closer  against  him,  and  staring  into  the  fire, 
"now  it  is  burned, — my  first  and  only  love  let- 
ter. I  would  have  loved  to  read  it  over  with 
you — you  and  I  together.  He  said  there  was  no 
need  of  it  now,  but  yes,  there  is.  I  should  have 
liked  to  watch  you  reading  my  confession,  and 
to  see  the  impression  it  made  on  you  reflected 
in  your  dear  face,  shining  in  your  dark  eyes  as 
you  lifted  them  from  the  page  to  me.  I  should 
have  liked  to  read  it  again,  to  remember  every- 
thing, the  pain,  the  struggle  to  keep  from 
spreading  my  wings  and  soaring  with  you  to- 
wards the  sunlight,  the  pitiful  endeavor  to  keep 
my  hold  upon  small  things,  and  then  to 
forget  it  all  in  the  glorious  ecstasy  of  our 
happiness." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  all  her  heart  in 
315 


THE    DEVIL 

her  starry  eyes,  confidingly,  his  forever.    Again 
he  stooped,  again  their  lips  met. 

There  was  a  rattle  at  the  knob  of  the  door 
into  the  hall.  It  opened,  and  admitted  Dr. 
Nicholas,  bag  in  hand,  his  fur  coat  hanging 
loose  from  his  shoulders,  a  travelling  hat  on  his 
head.  He  dropped  the  bag,  took  off  his  hat, 
came  forward,  and  said : 

"Excuse  me  again — really,  I  do  not  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  me  to-day.  Just  now 
I  gave  you  a  letter.  ...  It  was  not  yours.  I 
must  have  given  you  a  coal  bill,  instead.  They 
follow  me  all  over  the  world.  Here  is  the  letter, 
beyond  any  possibility  of  further  error." 

Jolan  snatched  it  from  his  hand,  opened  it 
and  read  it  with  Sandor.  His  arm  stole  around 
her  waist,  her  head  sank  on  his  shoulder.  They 
had  forgotten  the  man  standing  there,  the  man 
who  had  brought  them  together.  The  world 
had  ceased  to  exist  for  them.  They  were  alone 
in  a  dreamland  of  their  own  .  .  .  they  stood 
before  the  gate  of  their  earthly  paradise.  It 
beckoned  them. 

316 


THE    DEVIL 

Slowly,  softly,  they  began  to  move  across  the 
room,  his  arm  guiding  her,  her  head  confidingly 
pillowed  upon  his  shoulder.  A  great  light  was 
in  their  eyes. 

The  door  of  the  studio  closed  softly  upon 
them. 

Dr.  Nicholas  had  watched  them  closely,  hid- 
den in  the  shadow.  Now  he  took  up  his  bag, 
put  on  his  hat,  smiled  his  discreet,  enigmatic 
smile,  waved  his  hand  towards  the  door  through 
which  they  had  disappeared,  and  said,  with 
infinite  satisfaction: 

"Good  work!" 


THE  END 


317 


A     000129991 


